


All My Children

by xSeawater



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha France (Hetalia), Alpha Netherlands (Hetalia), Alpha Russia (Hetalia), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Buddy Cops Francis and Antonio, Discussion of Abortion, FACE Family, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Omega America (Hetalia), Omega Canada (Hetalia), Omega England (Hetalia), Recreational Drug Use, Strangers to Lovers, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-01-05 13:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSeawater/pseuds/xSeawater
Summary: Seventeen years ago, Francis met Arthur. Seventeen years ago, mistakes were made. He'd told him he'd terminated the pregnancy, and then they never spoke another word to each other.Seventeen years later, and Francis is just now meeting the twin boys that Arthur never told him about.





	1. Chapter 1

**September 2019. Present day.**

“Hey, are you comin'?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec.”

A report of a break-in at a residential address had been called in about thirty minutes prior, for a house the next town over. Because no lives were in immediate danger and the crime had already occurred, this made it a lower priority task. And because the queue happened to fall the way it did, Francis and Antonio were the ones assigned to go out and write up the report. Grabbing their keys, badges, chapstick, and whatever else off their shared desk, they headed out to get a car.

It was going to be a solid 30 minutes before they got there, so Francis took charge of the radio selection. Adult contemporary, of course, which made Antonio grumble and whine.

“Really, Francis? So... boring.”

“I don't complain when you put on your music.”

“Yes you do!”

“Okay, yes, but that's because you pick awful music.”

“They are not! They would not be on the top 40 if they weren't, right?"

They'd been working together at the local police department for the past ten years, having met each other on the first day of orientation at the academy and never really drifting apart since. They went through their training, their classes, and their exams together, and after graduation they applied, interviewed, and were hired together. Antonio was right there next to Francis when they took their oath to serve and protect. And, well, to do as much desk duty as possible.

This was more than likely going to be a routine report filing. Burglars typically didn't stick around after ransacking a house, so he and Antonio would likely just take a look around, clear the area, and then take down any information on losses, damages, or potential suspect information. And then they'd leave, probably to head straight back into town to catch a couple of drinks before hitting the hay. 

The station they worked at was in the city. The house in question was way out in the county, a solid drive away. The only officers here were specifically for emergency, hence why the two of them had to take a long, relaxing drive down country roads to take care of the job. It wasn't the worst part of the job, especially when you get to spend that time talking and bantering with your best friend. As they finally arrived to the street and rounded the corner, they saw a man who, they assumed, had to be the homeowner. A thin, blond man dressed in a brown twill suit was waiting on the front lawn, arms crossed impatiently. He turned to look at the car as it pulled up and the two officers could immediately discern the furrowed brows of agitation on his face.

“Looks friendly.” Antonio commented as he shifted the car into park along the sidewalk.

“Can't blame him. Would you be all smiles and sunshine if your house got broken into?” Francis quipped, before taking a breath and popping open the door. Of course he'd be angry, but that was going to make this task a lot more difficult. And drastically increase the need for a stiff drink afterwards.

Before either of them could offer a greeting, the thick-browed man started things off just swimmingly. “About time you lot got here.” He huffed. His arms remained crossed as he walked up to the two of them, partially out of irritation, partially to shield himself from the chilly fall weather. The later it got in the year, the earlier the cool evening breezes seemed to come in. It was September now, and before anyone knew it, the snow would start falling.

“Sorry, it was a bit of a drive. And since no one was in danger, these things get sent to the bottom of the list.” Antonio explained, but the man just scoffed and rolled his eyes, clearly unsatisfied with the reasoning.

“Right. Well, go on.” He motioned his head towards the front door, which was kicked in quite roughly. Francis paused, staring at the blonde man with a quizzical expression. Something seemed off, and he couldn't quite place his finger on why. When his partner went ahead and he was still standing there, the (irritated, _clearly irritated_) man turned to give him a look. But when his eyes met Francis', he stopped. That odd feeling must have gotten to him too. Quickly, he shook his head, coming to his senses. “What, are you going to stand there and let him go in alone? Go on!”

Okay, that got his attention. He muttered a mindless “yes, okay” and headed up to the porch where Antonio was waiting. He'd definitely noticed that interaction, and was giving Francis a puzzled look as he approached. Not saying a word, the two of them drew their handguns and entered the house to confirm it was empty.

As expected, it was a simple smash-and-grab type of operation. After creeping all around the house, the two officers determined it was clear. No burglars hiding in closets, cabinets, or rooms waiting for someone to come back in. They'd taken their prize and booked it, leaving a fine mess in their wake. After clearing the master bedroom, Antonio and Francis dropped their weapons and took a breath.

“What was that out there?” Was the first thing out of Antonio's mouth. He'd been dying to ask this entire time.

“Oh, uh,” Francis searched his brain for the right way to put it, “He seemed familiar. Just couldn't quite figure out from where.”

“Maybe we met him at a bar?” Antonio used his foot to poke at a piece of trash in the hallway. Whoever these burglars were, they sure didn't have any qualms about literally trashing the place.

“Maybe. I'm not sure.” Francis began to descend the stairs. “Though I'm sure I'd remember someone with that amount of attitude. Maybe I'm mistaken.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Antonio followed behind him, and the two of them put their weapons away as they went back towards the front door. “Let's go get that report and get out of here. He looks like he's ready to chew us up and spit us out.”

When the two officers walked out the front door without their weapons, the man in question dropped his shoulders in relief. Francis waved his arm to have him come up, and his leather shoes left imprints in the soft grass as he approached.

“Thank you, officers.” He seemed much less tense now, but still with a hint of agitation in his voice. Understandable, of course. His house had just been ransacked.

“Yeah, no problem. All clear.” Antonio was looking around at the damage. It was rough, but fixable. Except for that front door lock. They'd need it replaced ASAP.

Francis took out his pad of paper and a pen. “I'll get the report going. Can I get your name, please?”

The man turned and looked at Francis intently, probably way more than necessary for a simple question like a name. It took him a moment and Francis was about to inquire if he was alright before he responded. “Arthur Kirkland.”

A wheel turned in Francis' head, and he perked up. He did know him! “Wait, Arthur? Wow, I knew I recognized you from somewhere--”

“I don't recognize you.”

Francis' excitement was cut brutally short by Arthur's curt response. He was staring back at him with a look that told him not to press it, and Francis glanced at faithful, friendly Antonio to ease the tension slightly. “I-I'm sorry, I just--”

“What else do you need for the report, officer?”

Arthur was in no mood to be friendly. This was all business. Francis shook his head and laughed awkwardly, but went back to it. “If you could, uh, take a look around? I'm going to document losses and damages.”

Arthur nodded, and turned sharply to take in what he could. A look was shared between Antonio and Francis that said it all.

The three of them meandered the house, with Arthur scoffing and moaning about all the work he'd have to do to get this place back to a livable state. Periodically he would point out things that were missing and turn around to make sure Francis wrote them down. All in all, aside from the disarray, very little was actually taken. A couple of electronics, a pocketbook (with no actual bank notes or checks inside), and a television really seemed to be the only objects of value missing.

As they made their way up the stairs, Antonio stopped to pick up the trash as a source of evidence. If there were any prints, they'd probably be on the wrapper. Arthur waited with his arms crossed, while Francis noticed the two rooms on either side of the hallway with twin beds and sports paraphernalia inside.

“You have kids?”

Arthur seemed to bristle at that. “Yes.” His response was curt, and did not invite further inquiry.

Francis debated if he wanted to press further. “Are they here?” Arthur's look could have cut him, but he waved a hand dismissively. “Just to ask them some questions. Sometimes it's kids at school they might know.”

The agitated, frustrated British man opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of footsteps downstairs was answer enough. He sighed, exasperated, and closed his eyes. “Speak of the bloody devil.”

“Dad??? DAD CAN WE COME IN?” A loud voice called from the front door where, clearly, they'd already walked in.

“Is everything okay?” A second, much quieter voice followed, but was quickly drowned out by the first one yelling swears as he noticed how torn up their house was.

Upstairs, Arthur rubbed his temples.

“Boys, quiet down,” He scolded lightly as he descended the staircase, Francis following behind. The two teen boys had to be the kids mentioned, probably twins. They were both blonde and wore glasses of a slightly different frame. The longer haired kid gave his dad a hug as the other stomped around the living room.

“The TV is gone!!” He exclaimed in distress.

“Alfred, it's alright. None of us were hurt, and the TV is replaceable.”

“I know but it's _gone_!!” The teen paced around the living room, looking at whatever else was thrown around. He was shocked—hyped up and anxious over the adrenaline of it all.

Francis watched the little family from the bottom of the staircase, holding onto his pad and pen and trying to desperately to stay in his lane. Arthur had made it quite clear that he didn't want any personal discussions, and that he was only to take his notes, write the report, and get out. But that odd feeling was not going away, and only made him feel more uncomfortable when he saw the kids. He couldn't explain it. Maybe he just needed a drink.

“Boys, can you go take a look at your rooms upstairs? Let me know if anything is damaged or missing, so I can tell the officer.” Francis wanted to point out that they could talk to him directly, but that seemed like a point he didn't want to attempt making.

The two teenagers went up the stairs and passed Antonio, who was coming down having just bagged up his little wrapper of evidence.

“Oh, thanks for picking up my trash, officer!” Alfred mentioned as he passed by. Antonio smiled, and crumpled up the evidence baggy in his hand.

“Yeah, no problem.” So much for fingerprints. He greeted the quiet one as well, and paused for a moment to watch them go down to their rooms. Turning back, his brows looked furrowed in amusement. “Wow, Francis, those kids look like they could be your little mini-mes or somethin'.”

“Excuse me?” The response from Arthur was sharp, dripping with anger. “Don't talk about my children's appearances, officer.”

Antonio was caught off guard by the sudden snap. He glanced at Francis and then back at Arthur, raising his hands defensively. “Woah, I didn't mean anything by it! I just think they look a lot alike--”

“This is inappropriate. They're teenagers, don't comment on their looks.” Arthur was quick and his responses were harsh. But still, Antonio (who really, really didn't mean anything by it!) didn't get the hint to drop it.

“That's not inappropriate! Is it inappropriate, Francis?” He looked at his partner and friend for validation, but Francis was shaking his head and moving his hand to give him the 'drop it' notion.

Arthur was fuming. “What's your badge number?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your badge number. What is it?” He was grabbing a pen and a scrap of paper, ready to write it down. “Well?”

Antonio looked back and forth between the two of them as he nervously read out his number. Arthur scribbled it down, hands shaking with an anger that neither of them could explain.

“Thank you. I'll be calling your superior officer.” He folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket pointedly. “Those are my children, their house was just broken into, they have enough to worry about with school, they don't need random adult male alphas commenting on their appearances. You should know better.” Arthur was wagging the end of the pen in Antonio's face threateningly. Something told the both of them that he was dead serious.

“I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it.” Antonio sputtered, but Arthur wasn't about to drop it.

“No, of course you didn't. Of course you didn't even THINK about it, did you?” He scoffed in anger. “They're seventeen, how dare you leer at them like they're pieces of meat. Honestly, this is the 21st century, I can't believe I have to even say any of this to you. I'm going to be letting your supervisor know what happened here so in the future you think twice about what you say about young omegas and their looks.”

Antonio shot a glance at Francis looking for help, but the Frenchman seemed to be stuck on something Arthur had just said.

Did he say they were seventeen?

Suddenly, wheels began turning in Francis' head. He remembered exactly where, when, and how he met Arthur. It would have been approximately seventeen years ago. He stared at him, and Arthur immediately recognized the look on his face telling him he was putting those puzzle pieces together.

Like a panicked animal, Arthur coughed and began to cut short this process to get the two officers out of his house before Francis could open his mouth and say anything. “So, uh, I believe we're done here. Thank you, officers. If we need to follow up we'll contact you.”

“But the report--” Antonio wanted to mention that they hadn't quite finished documenting losses and damages, but Arthur was already directing them to the still-broken door. Maybe they could stay at a hotel until they got that lock fixed.

“If we find anything else, I will call the station to follow up.” He smiled pointedly, a sharp turn from the angry tone just moments prior.

The door didn't lock, or even shut all the way, but it was closed in their face before either of them could get another word in. But briefly, before it was closed, Francis turned around and saw the quieter of the two boys standing on the staircase. Their eyes met for only a second before Arthur closed the door between them.

* * *

“That was... weird.” Antonio finally broke the silence that hung between them as they got into their car. The two of them chuckled, finally able to say something about it.

“Yeah, really.” Francis glanced at his partner, who was clearly about to ask if he'd really crossed the line, but he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Don't worry about it, Antonio. I don't think you did anything wrong. He was obviously tense.”

Antonio let out a sigh of relief as he turned the key and began to drive away from the residence. “Thanks. But I'm still gonna need a drink. You down?”

Francis watched the house get smaller in the side mirror as they drove away. His friend's words were still ringing in his brain. “Yeah. A drink sounds great.”

* * *

In the dining room, Arthur watched the patrol car drive away. He never imagined he'd see this day, certainly not like this, anyways. Thoughts were swirling in his head, and with every moment that car was in his vision his breath was shorter. When it finally turned the corner his shoulders dropped, the tension leaving his body. He must have shown it on his face, because his son, Matthew, was watching him from the base of the stairs.

“Dad? Is everything okay?” He approached cautiously, having heard the tail end of his father's rant. Arthur jumped slightly, surprised to hear his son's quiet voice behind him, but the sight of those violet eyes eased his nerves.

Arthur quickly walked over to Matthew to give him a hug. “Yes, yes everything is just fine, love.” He held his son close, trying not to let his thoughts spiral and get ahold of him. Everything would be just fine.

* * *

The following morning, back at the station, Antonio got called into their superior's office for a talking to. Apparently, Arthur was dead serious about calling in his complaint and their supervisor was dead serious about letting Antonio know that this wasn't to happen again. It must not have been too bad of a conversation, because Antonio walked out twenty minutes later with nothing else but a grimacing look to share with Francis.

“All good?” Francis asked as his work partner walked around behind him, taking a seat at the other side of their shared desk.

“Yeah, oh yeah. I definitely understand the, uh, impacts of my word choices now.” They made eye contact and then burst into hushed laughter. The whole situation was just an inside joke to them now. But with the superior officer's eyes on them, they had to save it for later and get back to work.

“Something funny?” A voice said over Francis' shoulder, and he looked behind him to see their detective buddy, Gilbert, leaning over to get in the conversation. Being in a different role, Gilbert didn't get the chance to work with them often, but the three of them were still the three amigos of the station. He'd unfortunately missed the drink session last night due to a questioning that ran late, and he really wanted to catch up on what he'd missed out on.

“Oh my god, Gilbert.” Antonio laughed, straightening the papers on his desk. He really, really needed to get his clutter under control. “You have no idea.”

The two of them regaled what happened yesterday to their friend, who rolled his eyes. He'd met his share of, well, high-strung people in his jobs and he knew how it went with those types. “Yeesh. Wish I'd been there to say something. Lord knows you're both too chicken to stand up for yourselves.”

Antonio laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, well, when you've been 'talked to' as many times as I have, you learn to keep your head down, I guess. Easier to just smile and nod and get outta there, y'know?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Gilbert chuckled, crossing his arms. He then narrowed his eye and nodded at Francis' computer screen. “Oh god, what are you doing? Cyber stalking teenagers' Facebook profiles?”

Francis' eyes went wide and he waved his hands in defense. “What, _no_! No, I just... well, I got a little curious after what Antonio said yesterday how they looked like me. And I mean...” He flipped the screen around so both could see it, and leaned backwards so his face was right next to the screen. Matthew's Facebook profile was pulled up, and Francis pointed between his face and the picture. “What do you think? Is there a resemblance?”

“Why do you care?” Was Gilbert's immediate response, shaking his head and chuckling.

Francis rolled his eyes at him, but then looked to Antonio for backup. “What do you think? You see it, right?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.” Antonio was extra cautious about saying anything now, having just had his ass chewed out for twenty minutes over it. “But maybe it's just the hair, y'know?”

Francis sighed dramatically and moved his screen back to it's original position. “No support. No support, not even from my closest friends!”

Gilbert leaned against their desk, arms crossed. “Okay, now I'm really confused. Why _do_ you care so much?”

“Yeah, Fran, this is clearly eating at you. What gives?” Antonio set his papers down, looking at his friend in concern. Francis was the quickest to let things go, and he wouldn't be going on about it the next day, certainly not going as far as to look the kid up on Facebook, if there wasn't something bugging him about it.

The blonde leaned back in his office chair, crossing his fingers across his stomach. He tried to find the right way to explain it, but voicing it felt so... not right. “This is going to sound crazy, but what if we _are_ related?”

Gilbert and Antonio shared a confused, doubtful look. Gilbert tilted his head slightly. “Not following. Why do you think that?”

Francis sighed, and kept going. “Well, that omega? Arthur? I met him a long time ago and we, well... y'know. We fooled around.” His friends looked surprised, but Francis waved his hand. “We were teenagers, it was a long, long time ago. But, uh...” He looked back at the screen, staring at Matthew's face and struggling to get the next few words out. The more he played it in his head, the more sense it all started to make to him.

“Francis?” Antonio interrupted his thought, pressing him to go on.

“He got pregnant. And he told me he terminated it, but I never saw him or heard from him afterwards. And now I'm thinking...” He wanted to continue, but the words just escaped him. Silence said it all, no words needed.

“Holy shit.” Antonio leaned back in his chair, processing this truth bomb. He looked up at Gilbert to gauge his reaction, but their silver-haired friend was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Nah, I doubt it. Why wouldn't he tell you? I mean, you're a catch, man. And there's no way someone just decides to raise two unexpected twins on their own. That's too much.” Gilbert had a fair point. He'd raised his younger brother since the death of their parents several years back, and the two of them had heard often about the challenges of raising a kid. And that was just one, raising two would be a mountain of a task for one person.

“That's what I'm thinking.” Francis agreed immediately, but Antonio shook his head, doubtful.

“I don't know... they do look an awful lot like you. When did you say you met Arthur?”

“It would have been seventeen years ago."

“And he said they were seventeen. That can't just be coincidence, right?”

Antonio made a solid point, too. And the more Francis looked at the screen, the more he remembered that moment when he caught Matthew's eye before the door was closed in his face. Something was just nagging at him, and as much as he wanted to agree with Gilbert, his gut told him otherwise. He had to get some answers on this, it was going to eat him up inside not knowing.

Francis closed the browser window, deciding that he was going to tackle this later. “I don't know, guys. Maybe I should think about this later, though, huh?” He picked up a file that was sitting on his desk, tapping it against the corner before taking the contents out. “These cases aren't going to process themselves, right?”

Gilbert shrugged and got up from where he was leaning to return to his own desk. “Great idea. Get back to work—get your minds off of it. You guys watch too much drama.”

“They are called _telenovelas_, thank you, and they are masterpieces!” Antonio defended as Gilbert passed him, chuckling. He waited until their friend was out of earshot before leaning forward across the desk. “Hey, I'm serious, you gotta check it out. I think something is fishy about the whole thing.”

Francis looked over at him with a nod and a smile. “Oh, I know. I'm going to. Thanks, man.”

* * *

There hadn't been much business lately, so the locksmith Arthur called had been able to come out the very next day to set a new lock on their front door. As he was leaving, Arthur went to shut the door when he saw a patrol car pull up out front and a scowl immediately fell across his face. Great. The frog was back. Francis passed the locksmith as he walked up to the front door where a very, very irritated Arthur stood with crossed arms and a raging glint in his eye.

_Cool_. This might not go so well.

“Uh...” Francis put his hands in his pockets, trying to find a way to diffuse the obvious tension. “Looks like you were able to get that lock fixed pretty quickly.”

“Yes.” Arthur's tone was curt, unwelcoming. “Why are you here, officer?”

“Just to follow up.”

“To follow up?”

“Yes.”

“On the report?”

“Well, no.” Francis was trying to find the right way to approach this, but Arthur seemed anything but approachable. “It's actually a personal reason."

He'd hoped that would open up Arthur's curiosity, but the British man scowled even more at his words. “I have no personal business with you, Officer...” He squinted, looking at the embroidered badge on Francis' uniform, “Bonnefoy.”

“Oh come on, you know my name.” Francis was dying to get to the conversation at hand, but Arthur shrugged.

“No, I don't. Like I said, I have no personal business with you, and quite frankly if you're not here to follow up on the report then I'd rather you not be here.” He was short, and to the point.

“Arthur, I know--” He took a step forward, one step that was apparently just too close for Arthur. The look on his face switched from agitation to pure anger and he stepped forward with a combative stance, forcing Francis back on his heels.

“NO, YOU STAY BACK.” His voice was surprisingly loud for such a lanky, otherwise unassuming man, and the locksmith that was packing up his truck turned to look in their direction at the commotion. Arthur was aggressively shaking his finger in Francis' face, giving him a stern warning. “You have NO business here aside from handling my report, and I do _NOT_ want to see you on my property again, understood? I do not know you, nor do I want to. I want you to leave, and never contact me again outside of a registered, official line from the police station. Am I clear?”

Francis' mouth was agape, his eyes wide in shock. This was... certainly not how he planned this discussion to go. His hands were raised palm up, but he turned them in a shrug, not completely agreeing with Arthur's demands. After all, those might have been his kids. He had to know if they were his kids. “Arthur, please, hear me out--”

The blonde, bushy browed man scoffed angrily and stormed back inside, appearing in the doorway a second later with a pad of paper and a pen. “Your badge number, Officer Bonnefoy?”

“Arthur, listen to me--”

“Your BADGE. NUMBER. OFFICER.” He glared at Francis with an anger that could have burned straight through him, and his knuckles were white holding onto the pen. Francis swallowed the lump in his throat and accepted defeat, repeating his badge number so Arthur could scribble it down hard enough to rip holes in the top sheet.

He clasped the pad and the pen in one hand and crossed his arms again, standing back at the top of the porch, a distance between them. Francis shook his head in disbelief. Why wouldn't Arthur just _talk_ to him about it? His mouth moved, trying to think of words to say that would make the British omega change his mind, and Arthur raised his brows ready to debate whatever else came out of Francis' mouth, but nothing did. He couldn't find the words. With a defeated nod, he apologized.

“... Terribly sorry to bother you, Mr. Kirkland. I'll let you know if anything else comes up with your case.”

Arthur nodded, and Francis turned to walk back to his car. He got in, and took one last look at the porch to look for any change of heart that might have sparked, but all he saw was Arthur, standing firm as a brick, arms crossed and eyes directing him to get lost. And as much as his heart screamed at him not to, he turned the key and pulled away.

* * *

The following day, it was Francis' turn to get chewed out by their superior officer. First thing in the morning he'd been called in, and had it made explicitly clear to him that he was _not_ to handle Kirkland's case anymore. It would be reassigned, since he and Antonio weren't able to approach it in the professional manner needed. Francis wanted to explain the history, but figured it was no use. Their supervisor wouldn't care to hear it. Maybe he should take Gilbert's opinions to heart, and try to convince himself that this was all in his head.

Antonio greeted him with raised brows as he returned to the desk. “Shut it, Toni.” Francis groaned, taking a seat.

“You went back, huh?”

“I said, drop it, Toni.”

“He must really not want you to get involved.”

“Toni, please.” Francis was pleading. At that point Antonio realized that his friend was seriously hurting, and dropped his grin. He watched as his friend went back to looking at his desktop, knowing he was pulling up the Facebook profiles again.

“Hey, colega, I'm sorry.” He got up to go put his hand on Francis' shoulder in solidarity. “Maybe Gilbert was right, y'know? You know I get so romantic in my head.” He laughed, rubbing Francis' shoulder to try and ease the tension.

Francis was silent. He shook his head, going back between Matthew and Alfred's profile pictures. “No, Antonio, I think you're right. I just... I need to know, y'know?”

“I get it.” Antonio watched the screen switch. He still stood by what he said earlier. They do look alike. But Gilbert had a point too. This sounded like something straight out of a telenovela, not real life. “What are you going to do?”

Francis closed the browser and leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. What could he do? Arthur wanted nothing to do with him. If he approached him again, he'd likely get written up for harassment, if he wasn't terminated. If he approached the kids, Arthur would find out, and oh God that was a shitstorm he didn't even want to think about. He could do some independent investigating, but at what point would that be considered an inappropriate breach of privacy? And it wouldn't answer any of his questions—only Arthur could confirm for sure.

“I don't know, Toni.” Francis sighed, lifting his head up. His friend's warm hand on his shoulder was comforting, but not the sort of comfort he needed right now. “I really don't know.”

* * *

Two days later, Friday evening, Arthur was stuck at work late, per usual. Being the editor of a struggling newspaper publication was difficult enough, but with the budget getting leaner and leaner every year, he'd taken on more and more responsibility to keep things afloat. And here he was, 8pm on a Friday evening, trying to iron out wrinkles with their printing company to ensure tomorrow's paper would roll out smoothly. All in a day's work. Every single day.

When things were about as good as they could get before deadline, he closed up the office and gathered his things. On his desk sat a picture of middle school aged Alfred and Matthew, and he paused to look at it. Francis' sudden visit had brought up so many questions for him, questions he thought he'd answered and left behind years ago. But self doubt was rising to the surface, and he'd been fighting tooth and nail to push those thoughts out of his mind. The past was the past. He couldn't go back now. No, he'd made his decision and it was all he could do now to stick by it.

Arthur took a deep breath and grabbed his coat off the hanger on the back of his door. He took a brief look around—of course no one else was in the building, everyone else went home on time, home to their families and friends like normal people—and turned off the lights. He set the alarm, stepped out the door, and pulled his phone out of his pocket to check missed messages. But a patrol car and a familiar long-haired officer stood in the way of him and his car.

“Officer Bonnefoy--” Arthur began, his tone devoid of any patience. Francis didn't let him continue.

“Are they mine?”

They paused. Their eyes met. Both of them knew what he meant, but Arthur chuckled nervously. Deny, deny deny. “I'm sorry, I don't know what you--”

“The boys. Alfred and Matthew. Are they mine?”

Francis was dead serious, arms crossed, leaning back against his car. Arthur was cornered. The British omega looked side to side, like a trapped animal, trying to think of some way out of this. Some way to avoid the confrontation he'd been dreading for seventeen years. He'd hoped he could run away from this for the rest of his life. Run away from the biggest mistake and worst decision of his entire life, and live happily believing he'd made the right choice. And here Francis was to ruin it all.

Their eyes met once more, and Arthur had no excuse. He had no way out this time. He looked down at his hands, pulling out the key to the office again. “Come on inside.” His voice was quiet, defeated. “Let's talk.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on a roll babey

**November 1** **st** **, 2002. Seventeen years prior.**

Being a rich kid in the Midwest granted you a certain number of perks. For Francis, those perks included a nice, spacious house with good distance from any neighbors, and parents that periodically took trips out of the country. Being the lecherous teenager that he was, there was no way he'd pass up a prime house party opportunity like this. It was not in his blood to do so. A few calls here and there, and dropping the right hints among the right people, and he'd successfully pulled together a party that they'd all remember.

His friends had supplied the alcohol—Francis' parents really only stocked wine in the house, and he didn't dare touch any of it. If there was one thing they'd notice was out of place upon their return, it'd be the wine. Thankfully, the beer, wine coolers, and rum were keeping everyone busy. He was just passing by the kitchen when Scott stopped him, shoving a shotglass in his hand.

“Come on, mate, just one!” The tall, red-haired alpha was gruff and his invitation of a shot was more of a demand than an offer. Francis laughed, taking the tiny overflowing glass and raising it up.

“Day County High!” He toasted. This was the fourth shot tonight that Scott had talked him into, and they were running out of legitimate reasons to toast to. Not that it would stop any of them, of course, as they all roared with cheers and tossed back the alcohol.

It hit Francis' throat with a soft burn that was getting easier to swallow the more he drank. A group of omegas from the high school in the city booed the cheer, and came over to pour their own shots and toast to their home school. Scott smirked as they approached, and Francis took the moment to escape outside. His head was swimming and he needed some air.

He stepped out on the patio, wrapping his arms around himself when the chill from the outside air hit. Francis was not built for the cold and would not usually be caught dead outside without a (tailored, in-fashion) coat, but the warmth from the alcohol and the house full of people was clouding his head, and he had to get out for a breath before heading back inside.

He made his way, stumbling a little, towards the side of the house. Maybe sitting outside on the front curb would help him breathe and sober up a little bit. But as he turned the corner he was met with a group of unfamiliar teens, smoking a couple of cigarettes and laughing with each other. They had to be from a different school—he didn't recognize any one of them. This party really must have traveled. As he stopped the group turned to look at him.

Francis was a romantic. A die-hard hopeless romantic who lived for cliches and cheap tropes, and when the boy closest to him turned and looked him in the eye, he felt like the starring character in all those romantic comedies he'd watched growing up. He had green eyes that reflected the dull glow of the porch lights with a dazzling, almost devilish, gleam, and precious freckles dotting his small nose. For a brief second, Francis was struck silent.

And then he got a look at the rest of him.

His hair was a victim of a shabby home dye job, a horrid green that didn't quite hide the straw blonde underneath it, and was spiked and pulled forward just over his brows, which, on that note, as dark as a forest and about ten times as thick as one. He was a crusty little punk, with ripped jeans, a band t-shirt, and a red tie hung loosely around his neck (thanks, Avril). His hands were tucked into a denim jacket, patches sewn into the shoulders, and he jabbed his cigarette back up to his lips in a threatening manner as he stared at Francis.

He was rough. _ Horribly _ rough. It was disgusting and endearing all at the same time.

No matter. Francis could makeover any pauper into a prince with the right patience. With the alcohol swirling in his head, Francis had to reach out to lean his hand on the side of the house to keep himself upright. He was a tad too far for it to be smooth, and shakily stumbled before getting his grip and playing it off like he meant to. “_ Bonjour _.”

* * *

The only reason Arthur was at this party was thanks to his brother. His brother, Scott, who was currently busy knocking back shots with his friends and a group of omegas he was probably hoping to get lucky with. When Arthur's plans fell through (thanks, flaky Becky) and things started to take a turn for the worst at home, he'd come to his older brother begging him to take him out of the house with him. And usually, Scott would have told Arthur to bugger off if he hadn't seen first hand how drunk their mother already was at 4pm. In a rare moment of pity, he'd agreed to let his younger omega brother tag along. Thank god, Arthur had thought to himself. Their mother had never been kind to him, her only omega child. It had only gotten worse when he came into his teenage rebellion phase, and she wasted no opportunity to remind him of how little she thought of him. Of how disappointing he was, how stupid he was, how he was a useless whore who would end up dead on the street somewhere. Their mother had her own share of mental problems, including a venomous self-hatred that she all too often projected onto her own children, but even Scott admitted that she went too far in her regular abuse of Arthur.

And so here he was, surrounded by drunk randos and his brother's sloshed friends. He'd managed to seek out a handful of teens that seemed to run in the same clique as he did (i.e., all black, band tees, look of pure annoyance at all times) and snuck out to the side patio to bum a smoke with them. They all went to a different school, and he stood somewhat on the outside of their little circle, not quite included, but it sure beat sitting by himself on the couch. And it most definitely beat staying at home trading insults with his drunk, belligerent mother. Christ.

When Francis sauntered up to the little gathering of outcasts he was surprised at first. The Frenchman was dressed far too nice for a drunken house party and his hair was pulled back with a Chanel ribbon. He looked like a model out of a catalog for a place only celebrities could afford. Roll-neck sweater, designer jeans, and that god damn _ Chanel ribbon _ in his highlighted blonde hair. And then his footing went wobbly. The blonde heartthrob had to grip the side of the house to keep from falling right over. Arthur huffed and took another drag off his cigarette. “Francis, come off it. You're drunk.”

Francis' brows rose in surprise. “Huh?”

He gave a breathy laugh. “Oh, please, stop it. You know me.”

Mr. Hot and Handsome rearranged his feet, not quite following what Arthur was saying. “I... do I?”

“You've been at my house!”

Francis was not getting the drift, and Arthur scoffed. It wasn't a big surprise that his own brother's friends didn't recognize him. He and Scott lived entirely separate lives, barely interacting unless one of them needed something, or if they had a bone to pick with each other. Scott's friends came and went in their house, not paying any attention to Arthur or their other brothers. But still, it sure hurt whatever pride he had.

“I'm Scott's brother.” He explained. Behind them, one of the other teens received a call on his cell phone and stepped away to answer it.

Bam, that did it. Francis recalled him and the shock spread out on his face. “Oh! Arthur! _ Mon dieu _, I apologize. I didn't mean to...”

“It's okay.” He shrugged, inhaling another puff off of his cigarette. It was nearly to the butt. “I don't care.”

Francis wrung his hands awkwardly, trying to think of some sort of save for the situation. Arthur smirked a little bit, actually enjoying the metaphorical egg on the Frenchman's face. The kid with the cell phone returned to the group, getting their attention.

“Hey, uh, our ride's here. We're gonna split. Cool talking to you, uh... kid.” He gestured at Arthur, and it was his turn to wear the metaphorical egg on the face. None of them knew him, they just tolerated him hanging around them while they smoked outside and shit talked the rest of the people inside. The British omega had planned to bounce around with these strangers, but he wasn't invited. '_ Bloody fool _ ,' he thought to himself. Odd how his inner saboteur sounded just _ so much _ like his mother sometimes. ' _ Of course they wouldn't want you to come along. Who would? _'

They exited through the side gate, leaving Arthur standing alone with Francis. He tried not to make eye contact, but no eye contact was needed to see the embarrassed flush on the British omega's face. Francis felt a tinge of pity for the ousted punk, and took a step towards him.

“Arthur?” Francis finally spoke. The boy jerked his head towards him, his thick brows furrowed in anger and Francis debated if he wanted to offer any words of solace. He barely knew him, but he knew how vicious he and Scott could get during their fights and didn't want to unleash that beast. Hell truly hath no fury like Arthur scorned. It took him a moment to find the right words.

“... Want to go inside and get a drink?”

Arthur looked at the ground and shuffled his feet slightly. He was mortified. God, yes he wanted a drink. “... Yes.” He mumbled, and followed the blonde alpha back into the house.

Scott was still in the kitchen, standing around the middle island and bellowing laughter through the house with his friends. The handle of rum someone brought sure was doing a great job of keeping them all occupied. Francis walked in with Arthur, and Scott pointed at them to announce their presence.

“Where the bloody hell've you two been?” His voice was loud, his words slightly slurred, and everyone turned to look at them.

“Scott!” Francis called back with his arms held out. “You didn't tell me your brother was going to be here!”

“Well, 'cause he wasn't supposed to be.” The redhead retorted. “Little bastard begged me to let him tag along, probably 'cause he's got no friends of his own to spend a Friday night with.”

“Hey!” Arthur snapped. “I have friends.”

His response went unnoticed. Francis made a mock dramatic sigh. He did truly feel bad for the omega, and wanted to make him feel better. Maybe a few well-placed compliments would do the trick. “You let me down, Scott. If I knew such a lovely omega would be here I'd have fixed the place up. A shame...”

His friend gave him a raised brow, glancing at his rough-looking younger brother with his green Kool Aid-dyed hair and ripped jeans. 'Lovely' was not ever a term he'd use to describe Arthur, and from the scrunched up look on the omega's face he didn't think so either. “We talkin' about the same brother, Francis? 'Cause all I see is Arthur and he looks like someone shoved a dog turd up under his nose.”

Francis gave a fake gasp, and looked back at Arthur who, like Scott had said, had his face scrunched up like he was getting a whiff of something unpleasant. He rolled those pretty green eyes of his with disdain. “Oh, sod off.” He scowled, arms crossed. “Both of you.”

Scott's burly fist pounded the countertop loud enough to make the two omegas on either side of him jump and he roared with laughter. He waved them both over, and poured drinks for them. It was a shitty mix of the rum and some Sprite—heavy on the rum—but it was doing the trick. And, besides, Francis had to slow down on the straight shots or he'd be on the bathroom floor before the end of the night.

“To my lovely, charming, adorable, little brother.” Scott raised his drink for a sarcastic toast, throwing his arm over Arthur's shoulder and holding him close. Arthur nearly spilled his drink as his brother grabbed him, but raised his hand up as well.

“To meeeee.” He grumbled. The rest of the group laughed and joined in on the playful toast, then they all knocked back big gulps of the atrociously sweet, but deliciously fiery mix. Arthur made a face. This was gross, but he was going to have to drink more if he wanted to catch up with the rest of them.

He smacked his lips disapprovingly at the drink, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Francis watching him. Watching him make disgusted faces at his nasty Sprite-rum mixture with a look that he knew all too well. He'd spent time around enough alphas to know what that look meant. And he couldn’t deny that Francis’ little ‘lovely’ comment from earlier had made him feel at least _ some _ type of way. His lips curled slightly into a smirk, but his brother leaned heavy on him, pointing in front of his face at his friend.

“Hey,” Scott was drunk as shit, and he sloshed some liquor out of his cup as he shoved his hand at Francis' face. “You watch out for this one, Art. He's a hound if I ever knew one.”

Francis raised his brow at Scott, and without a response, just shrugged his shoulders in a 'what can I say?' motion. Arthur took a sip from his drink, looking over the rim at Francis with a sly expression. He didn't need Scott to tell him what Francis had on his mind. “Is that so?

* * *

If there was one way to get Arthur to do something, it was to explicitly tell him _not_ to do something. Scott had given him a clear warning to not get too close to Francis, and that only made the allure of the Frenchman all that more tempting. His teenage rebellion wild streak had seen him with a number of different alphas, but none quite as _annoyingly_ charming as Francis. No matter what clever insult or taunt Arthur threw his way, he always had something to throw right back, and he had to admit he was getting a thrill out of this little song and dance.

“Dare you to take a shot.” Francis offered. They were playing a loose game of Truth or Dare with the rest of the group but the others had gradually wandered away, leaving just the two of them. Meanwhile, Arthur had been pounding back the drinks to get as toasted as the rest of them, and he was succeeding.

He poured the rum into the shotglass, and held up his index finger. “Actually,” He started, “I'll go one further. I can do it with no hands.”

Francis gave him an expectant look, and Arthur stuck his chest out, clasping his hands behind his back. Without hesitation, he leaned forward and put his lips to the glass. He wrapped them all around the brim, going down it ever so slightly, and opening one eye to make sure Francis was watching. The alpha was staring intently at his lips, entranced by the delicate movement of his mouth around the glass. Mission accomplished.

Gripping firmly, he leaned back up and tossed it back. The alcohol slid down his throat painlessly and he set the glass down, releasing it with a pop and sticking his tongue out proudly to show that he'd swallowed it all. Francis gave an impressed golf clap, and Arthur held his composure for an entire 3 seconds before scrunching his face up, unable to hide the burn from the booze.

They both laughed, and Arthur gave Francis a playful smack on the arm. “Okay, your turn. You show me something now.”

Without saying a word, the alpha winked and stepped over to the fridge. He returned with a jar of maraschino cherries, and pulled a single one out by the stem. Like a rose, he held the cherry up in front of Arthur's face, enticing him to eat it. “Do me the honor?”

His decidedly uncharmed omega snorted and reached up with his hand to pick the cherry off the stem, tossing it in a discarded solo cup. “Those are gross. Show me.”

Francis gave him a pout, and then tossed the stem in his mouth. He maintained eye contact with Arthur, his gaze daring him to look down at his mouth, where he was moving his lips carefully and sensually. Arthur gradually dropped his eyes, watching those lips move. He was entranced, and when Francis opened his mouth to reveal the tied cherry stem sitting delicately on his tongue, Arthur smirked. Well played.

That was what led to them sitting on the kitchen floor, side by side, leaned in towards each other with their individually masterful lips pressed together. That, and Arthur finally tripping and going down when they'd both had one drink too many. Francis had knelt down to help him up, but tumbled himself, and, well. One thing led to another.

Arthur moved his head to the side, reaching up to touch the spiny stubble on Francis' cheek. Francis' hand was buried in his hair, undoing all of the toussled spikes that Arthur had worked so hard on. They both tasted like alcohol and felt like pure lusty heat, and there was nothing stopping either of them from just grabbing ahold, climbing on, and--

A horrible retching sound interrupted their makeout sesh. Arthur's head whipped to the side to see his brother gripping the sides of the kitchen trash bin, hurling his highly alcoholic stomach contents into it. Another friend of his was loyally helping him blow chunks, holding the bin for balance and patting the redhead's back to reaffirm him.

They watched Scott yack for a second, and Arthur hadn't even noticed Francis put his arms around him protectively when he was startled. When he realized the pair of arms wrapped around him, Arthur looked down, and then back at Francis with a fiery glint in his eye. “Wanna go upstairs?”

Francis looked into his eyes, glanced back to make sure Scott was still down for the count, and then grinned. “_ Oui _.”

* * *

**November 15th, 2002. Two weeks later.**

The two weeks after that party were possibly the longest two weeks of Arthur's life. That was the recommended wait time listed on the side of the box for the pregnancy test he'd bought the following day, and having to wait an entire fortnight to find out his fate had damn near killed him. But now, sitting on the edge of the bathtub in his bathroom, staring at the test in his hands, he wished it would have.

A tiny, pink plus sign. According to the box, that meant one thing.

_ Pregnant _.

When he first saw it, he immediately burst into tears. Then he set it down, cried it out, and took another look, hoping he was wrong. Nope, still there. He put it down and paced back and forth in the tiny closet of a loo, praying that each time he looked at it, he'd see clearly and a single line would be all that was there. But the tiny pink plus sign burned into his brain still. His mother's words echoed in his head. _ Whore _.

How could this happen? He'd slept with alphas before, and never had a problem. Why, this one time, with his brother's friend of all people, had things gone wrong?

God, what was he going to _ do _?

When he finally got a handle on himself, Arthur picked up his cell phone to dial Francis. After the condom busted, they'd had a talk about it. A “just in case” talk. At the time Arthur dismissed the idea that anything would happen—he wasn't in heat, anyways—but they agreed abortion would be the route they'd take in an emergency. Arthur didn't think he'd have to make this call, but, well. Here he was.

His breath caught in his throat with each ring until Francis finally picked up. “Arthur?” He asked, in a hushed tone. His parents must have returned home. “What is it?”

“It's, uh...” Suddenly, the words escaped him. He stuttered, trying to pull them out of his chest. “It's positive.”

A silence hung on the other end of the line. “... _ Merde _.”

“I-I'm--” He hiccuped, feeling the tears rush to his eyes and sobs ready to clutch his throat. He swallowed them down. Get out with it, Arthur. “I'm going to make the appointment.”

“Okay.” Francis was solemn, but understanding. “Do you need help?”

“No.” God, no. Arthur got himself into this mess, he could get himself out.

“Do you need me to take you?” Someone had to be in the room with him, because he was avoiding any words that would indicate what it was they were talking about.

Arthur shook his head. “No. No, I'm fine. I can manage.”

“Okay. Please, let me know how it goes.” His voice was tender, caring. It made Arthur want to cry again.

“I will.”

There was an awkward, strange silence that followed where neither really knew what to say. Words of comfort might have been appreciated, but Francis simply signed off with his goodbyes, and they hung up. Arthur was left standing by himself in the bathroom again, clutching his cell phone to his chest and trying to find the inner strength to make the next call he needed to.

As he walked towards the door to get the phone number for the clinic from his room, he paused, catching sight of himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and bloodshot from all the sobbing, and maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but was his stomach bigger already? Well, there was a little baby growing in there after all.

A baby.

He nearly choked on his own tears again, and rushed for his room.

* * *

**November 20th, 2002. Five days later.**

He wished he could have said the day of the appointment went smoothly. He really wished he could. But as he sat on a bus on his way to Paulo's house, a backpack of belongings on his lap, he could only think of the disaster that led him here, and how it was _ all his fault _.

The appointment was fairly mundane. Arthur had bused himself there, telling no one, sauntered past the protesters, and checked in. It was all very comforting, welcoming, not at all like the horror stories that had been screamed at him outside. His stomach was in knots, but the doctor explained the process in terms he could understand, and when it was time, handed him a cup of water and a pill.

It was a simple process, actually. Or, well, it should have been. When the pill was placed in his hand felt like it weighed a million pounds, and fear gripped Arthur's heart. Suddenly, staring at that little pill, his decision wasn't so certain.

So he didn't take it.

He spit it out the second the doctor turned away and hid it in his pocket. No one was the wiser, and he was sent on his way with the follow up medication and a pamphlet about what to expect.

And he probably would have taken it later, too, had he not made egregious mistake number one of forgetting both on the bathroom counter, and egregious mistake number two of not realizing his mother was home.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of screaming and fighting. She'd hurled the box of medication at him when she found it, telling him those words over and over again. “_ Whore! _ ” She screeched, narrowly missing her chance to grab his wrist before he slammed his bedroom door in her face. Her fists pounded on the wood outside. “ _ I hope for your sake you're packing your bloody bags right now you filthy slag! _”

They screamed insults at each other from either side of the door as Arthur shoved whatever clothes he could find into his backpack. It was a fight to get out the door, but he managed. And as he walked away, his stomach rolled with a strange mix of anxiety and long-needed relief. He'd made plans and threats to leave a million times before, but this time? He was gone for good, whether he liked it or not.

Now, here he was, alone on a late bus to the other side of the city. The first person he called was his friend Paulo, who immediately offered him shelter at his place with him and his father. Arthur could never be grateful enough for Paulo.

Just as he was ready to lean his head back on the seat and try to close his eyes, his cheap little pre-paid cell phone lit up in his hand, and the name on the display made his heart sink. Francis. Fuck, he'd forgotten to call him back. He debated letting it go straight to voicemail, but the better part of him hit the green answer button. “Hello?”

“Arthur?” Francis was on the other line, a strange tension in his voice. “How did it go? You never called me.”

“O-oh.” Arthur pretended like he hadn't realized, trying to be nonchalant. “Yeah, sorry about that. I've just been so tired. It was a bit of an ordeal.”

“Was it?” He sounded concerned. “I'm sorry, I should have been there.”

“No, really, it's okay.”

Arthur had to break the truth to him. He had to tell him that he hadn't gone through with it. That he couldn't understand why, but at the very last moment, his fear got the best of him and he chickened out. Perhaps it was the sight of the tiny little pill cupped in his hand that made him realize the gravity of the entire situation. This was his mistake, his cross to bear, and his mess to clean up.

No, he couldn't. He was going to handle this on his own.

“Well, uh, it's done.” Arthur lied straight through the receiver. “The procedure itself was quite simple, really.”

“Good, I'm glad it wasn't too bad. Can I help at all?” Francis' offer was genuine, he could tell, and so kind. It nearly broke Arthur's heart to not come clean right then.

“No, it's quite all right. I'll be alright.” He would. He had to tell himself he would, if he wanted to believe it. And he had to really believe it if this was going to work out.

“Okay, well... if there's anything I can do for you, please, let me know.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Alright, well. _ Bonne nuit _, Arthur. Get some sleep.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

They hung up. Arthur stared at the tiny blue screen of his cell phone. In that moment, he knew what his decision was.

His hand dug into his pocket, seeking out the tiny pill he'd stashed earlier, and he practically ripped it out. With his other hand he jimmied open the bus window, and chucked it out onto the highway.

This was his decision to live with. His alone.

* * *

**September 2019. Present day.**

They were alone in the office, everyone having long deserted for their Friday night plans. Francis took a seat in the chair, while Arthur paced back and forth with his arms crossed.

“Do you want the long story or the short story?” He asked.

“I want the whole story.”

Arthur glanced at the blonde alpha, who was staring daggers into him. He had to look away, unable to meet his ferocious gaze. After a brief pause to try and gather his words, he sighed and dropped his hands. There was no clever way to put it. “I couldn't go through with it.” He took a seat finally, on the other side of the desk so they were facing each other. “I went to the appointment, but at the very last moment I just... couldn't do it.”

“Why?” Francis' tone had softened, slightly, but Arthur was still at his mercy for the time being. The omega shrugged his shoulders.

“I... I wish I had an answer. I was so embarrassed. I was sure but in the end I just couldn't go through with it.” And that was the truth. To this day Arthur had no good explanation for why he suddenly choked up in the doctor's office like that. The day had played in his mind over and over again for seventeen years, but he couldn't quite understand why he changed his mind.

Francis glanced away, shaking his head. “Then why did you lie? You told me you went through with it. Why did you lie to me?”

The evening came back to his mind, and Arthur felt the guilt wash over him again. That night he was riding the bus, when he explicitly lied over the phone to Francis. At least that he had an explanation for. “Because it was my decision. I made the mistake, and I made the decision to pick up the pieces afterwards. I didn't want to put this on you.”

Arthur's voice was low, apologetic. He did truly mean that. Francis leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, like he was judging the responses. His blue eyes remained focused on Arthur, not letting him dismiss him a third time. And Arthur seemed to get it, because he was shrinking back in his seat like a scolded dog. He knew he fucked up, and that it was time to answer for it.

Francis let the silence mellow as he took in the explanation. Finally, he spoke. “I want to meet them.”

“No.” Arthur's response was immediate, firm. Francis leaned forward.

“They're my children, Arthur.”

“No, you can't.” The omega shot back, shaking his head. He was getting defensive again.

Francis took a sharp breath, feeling anger rise in his chest. He put his arms on the desk. “Arthur, they are my _ children _. I can't just ignore their existence.”

“Yes you can.” Arthur's words were quick, shaky. “We've been fine for the past seventeen years, we don't need--”

“I'm not walking away from this. I can't.”

“I can pay you,” He was talking faster and faster, running through his backup plans. His backup escape plans, that was. No mistake, there'd been plenty of time to think about what he could do in this situation, but not enough time to get the words out of his mouth, it seemed. “A lump sum, to walk away and pretend we never met.”

“What? _ Mon dieu _, absolutely not!”

“I'll call your supervisor. I-I'll apologize for the misunderstanding, and--”

“Arthur!” Francis slapped his palms down on the desk and stood up, interrupting him for good. He was absolutely breaking down, rambling out whatever ridiculous outs he'd come up with over the years. This was madness, no way in hell would Francis walk away from his own two children. “Why? Why don't you want me around?”

“BECAUSE!” He jumped to his feet as well, voice cracking. “Because they'll _ hate me _, Francis!”

His voice croaked, and he let out a strangled choke trying to keep from bursting out a sob. Francis' blue eyes narrowed razor thin. Arthur shook his head, looking down at the desk in shame.

“... I told them I didn't know who their father was. If they found out I knew... and that you were here the whole time, I... I'm scared they'll hate me.” His voice was quiet, confessing something he had never uttered out loud. His deepest, darkest fear that was looking more and more like reality with every word they spoke.

Francis could barely believe what he was hearing. This was all far-fetched to begin with, but to even mislead his own kids? “You've been lying to them this whole time?”

“Yes.”

Arthur couldn't hold back his sobs any longer, and he let out choked whimpers as the tears started flowing. His crying only made Francis all that more furious, and the Frenchman was biting his lip and breathing hard to keep from exploding. God, what a snivelling, _ lying bastard _.

“... You know what? Maybe they should hate you for this.” Francis scoffed, standing up straight and looking Arthur dead in the eye as the sobbing omega met his gaze. “You've been lying to your children their entire lives. What kind of parent does that?”

He wanted to berate him, to really make him feel as horrible as he should for this, but scolding never did work on Arthur. He was a fighter, and he was always, always prepared to snap back. “I was trying to protect them. I hardly knew you!” He swallowed his sobs, composing himself remarkably quick. If nothing else, he prided himself on being a good parent, and he would readily fight Francis on that.

“So you decided to never give me a chance?” The alpha crossed his arms. No, no way was Arthur going to stand here and defend his decision to never tell him about his children, ever.

“I wanted what was best for the boys.” Arthur cleared his throat and sniffed, finally moving past the blubbering and crying. “My family is bad enough, you know that. They don't need more unnecessary drama.”

Francis had to laugh at that. A laugh that echoed hostility. “Oh, yes, because never knowing their own father is what's best!”

“Oh yeah?” Arthur quipped, crossing his arms. “Would your parents have been proud you knocked up some random omega in high school?”

“What?”

“I remember who you were. You were a pretty, rich boy with a nice family and your parents were so, _ so _ proud of you.” Arthur's tone was dripping with a venomous sarcasm. He did remember Francis, and he remembered the disdain his family held towards those not in their tax bracket. The 'less fortunate,' as they were called. “Do you really think they'd have just... welcomed me into the family like it was nothing?”

Okay, yes, his parents were high-strung, but this was a reach. Francis exhaled and shook his head. “That doesn't--”

“Scott told me. How your parents didn't trust him.” Arthur was quick to bring that out, and even Francis seemed surprised to have it brought up again. True, in high school a bottle of their favorite wine had gone missing from their rack, and they wasted no time in blaming Scott for stealing it. Little did they know Francis had taken it himself to enjoy. “They didn't like him. What makes you think they'd have liked me?”

“That's not an excuse.”

Arthur truly was grasping at straws here, but he had no other choice. He had to defend it to himself to justify what he'd done, and he was damn good at justifying his actions to himself.

“You wanted the abortion, Francis.” He sighed. Somehow, saying the word just... made it all that much more serious. “We talked about it. You didn't want them. You suggested it.”

“Arthur,” He ran out of patience long ago, but tried to calm himself down. As much as he wanted to chew into the omega for what he did, that wasn't why he was here. “Why didn't you tell me? For seventeen years... why didn't you ever tell me?”

“I...” He wrestled with the right way to confess. “I was going to, truly I was. But... it never felt like the right time, and the longer it went the more wrong it felt to suddenly just spring it on you out of nowhere. And then it was just far too long, and I had to accept that I missed the chance.”

“But why didn't you ever tell Afred and Matthew? You could have told them the truth years ago.”

“I know, and I should have. I wanted to tell them once they were old enough. But we were fine. Things were good. I didn't want to jeopardize that.” He was pleading for Francis to understand on this one, but of course he wouldn't. It was hell raising two twin boys on your own, and particularly so when one of them was Alfred. Matthew was an angel, but Alfred took ten times as much energy and attention to care for, and ever since he'd turned 13 it had gotten worse. Maybe Matthew could have handled it, but Arthur held back to keep from destroying the fragile relationship he had with the younger twin.

Francis nodded, not accepting any of it, but processing it. He chewed on his lip, averting his eyes and thinking of the right thing to say. What was there _ to _ say? Aside from telling Arthur what a god-awful, fucked-up mistake he'd made, of course. “You really fucked up.” Yeah, no, there wasn't anything else to say. “You really, really fucked this up, Arthur.”

Hearing it point blank like that stung, and truth be told, Arthur couldn't argue. He nodded sadly, accepting the blame. Yeah, he did. He really, truly, fucked things up. He tried to step away, leaned against the edge of his desk, and then just slowly slid to the ground, putting his face into his palms. The two of them could fight over the details until the sun came up, but it wouldn't change the reality of the situation. This problem was his fault, and his alone, and this time he wasn't going to be able to pick up the pieces by himself.

Francis watched the omega slide to the ground, and a petty, cruel side of him felt glad. Good, he thought, he deserves it. After what he did, he wanted to scream at him and then leave him here to cry on the floor alone in his guilt. But Francis wasn't wired that way. He couldn't be that heartless. That same part of his heart that felt pity when he saw the omega ditched at the house party years ago felt pity for him now, and with an annoyed huff he took a step forward and sat down beside him. Their backs rested against the side of the desk, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, neither finding the right words to say.

When Arthur didn't say anything, Francis made the decision for him. “I'm coming Sunday to see them.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Please, Francis.” Arthur begged, turning his head to look at the man sitting beside him. “Give us more time.”

“More time? Arthur, I have lost seventeen years of being in my own sons' lives. How much more time can I lose?”

“Let me tell them. I... I just....” Arthur choked, at a loss for words. How on earth was he going to be able to tell them? How was he going to find the stomach to let Alfred and Matthew know about their father?

Francis could tell the omega was distraught, and his conscious got the better of him. He extended an arm around Arthur's shoulder in a comforting motion. His hand rubbed his shoulder, easing the tension, and it must have done something because Arthur didn't fight back. Instead, he leaned into him oh so slightly. “We'll tell them together.”

“What?” Arthur sniffed, giving him a quizzical expression.

“We're parents now. We'll have to get used to doing things together, no?”

Arthur stared forward at the wall. The concept sounded so foreign to him. _ Parents _. He was going to have to learn how to co-parent with Francis after all. “Okay. Sunday it is.”

They sat on the floor like that for an extended time, just in silence, taking in the reality of the situation. Things were going to be different from here on out. An uneasy anxiety fumbled in both their stomachs, albeit for different reasons. Arthur was coming to terms with the fact that Alfred and Matthew wouldn't just have him anymore. Francis would be there too. And Francis was going to finally meet his children.

Neither one of them had the right words of comfort for each other on that front.

After a good while, Arthur finally broke the silence with an awkward chuckle. “Oh, god. The security guards are going to have a fit seeing this on the cameras.” He laughed, pointing at the security cameras in the corners of the building. One was clearly directed towards his office.

Francis smiled, waving at the small black device. “Want me to smile at them on our way out? I have been known to be dazzlingly charming and devastatingly handsome.” He looked back at Arthur with a cheeky grin, wiggling his eyebrows. The other man just rolled his eyes and shoved his arm off his shoulders.

“Oh, sod off. Cheeky mongrel.”

  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure at what point I blacked out and wrote 10k words, but this chapter is awfully long!
> 
> Note: Brief one-sided PortEng in this one. It'll come into the story later.
> 
> Names used:  
Emma - Belgium  
Claude - Luxembourg  
Lars - Netherlands  
Carlos - Cuba  
Paulo - Portugal

**September 2019. Saturday morning.**

  


As the year dragged on, the cold weather began to fall over the county like a blanket. Gusty winds drifted through, chilling residents through their light sweaters and knocking the yellow leaves off the trees. A thin layer of multicolored leaves lay on the pavement, residue from the last bout of wind that came in overnight. Matthew Kirkland's shoes crunched over them as he jogged down the street.

The days were growing ever shorter with the oncoming of fall, and he wanted to get some light exercise in before it grew dark. His beloved Samoyed, Kuma, ran alongside him, thankful for the chance to get out as well. Kuma was originally a gift from Arthur for the family, after both boys had begged him senseless to let them have a dog, but the fluffy white pup had taken an immediate liking to Matthew over anyone else. He always came along with his human on jogs like this—for the exercise, and so that the boy wouldn't be out alone. Not many people were willing to mess with someone who had a dog Kuma's size trailing beside them.

The cold air was starting to sting his lungs when he finally made it back to his house. Arthur was standing in the kitchen, drying off dishes. He greeted the boy as he set down a fresh dish in the cabinet, reaching for another wet plate. Just in time, Matthew thought, the sun was setting and he made it home without his dad scolding him for being out after dark. He gave Kuma a salmon treat—his absolute favorite—and unhooked the leash. Time to settle in for the night.

As Matthew was settling in, Alfred was just getting ready to go out. “Sup Mattie? Hey Dad!” He sauntered in, somehow making so much noise just by being present, and grabbed a bag of potato chips off the top of the fridge. He slid into a seat at the table, sitting askew, and began to dig into it. Matthew took a seat across from him, and reached over to get some chips as well. Their father had tried desperately over the years to get them to eat healthier, but their penchant for junk food remained.

“Oh, boys, while I've got you both here.” Arthur stood up straight, drying his hands off with the the dish towel. “We're going out for brunch tomorrow. It's rather important.”

Al and Matt shared a glance. Weird, Dad never made meal plans like that with them. Let alone brunch. Their dad was more of a... 'wake up late and take ibuprofen' type of Sunday morning. Not a 'wake up early and go to brunch' type of Sunday morning. Alfred snorted as he popped a chip in his mouth. “Did you watch through Downton Abbey again and now you're trying to, like, make family meals a thing?”

“No, Alfred. I'm serious about this. You both need to be there.” Yes, he'd done that before, but nostalgic British soap operas were _not_ the reason he was calling this family meeting. His son shook his head, swallowing his mouthful before making his excuse.

“Sorry, Dad, no can do. I'm going out tonight. I have a team meeting with the rest of the team.” The football team. He was the star quarterback, which was quite the impressive feat for an omega, even in 2019. His skills spoke for themselves, and he was already gaining interest from colleges to play for them. Football was everything for Alfred.

But, of course, he wasn't trying to go to a 'team meeting.' He wanted to go out and party with the boys, and used the team excuses as a cover every single time. Matthew knew this routine. 

His father shook his head. “Well, I'm sorry, but you have to be there. Like I said, it's important. What do you even have to talk about at a team meeting that would take so long?”

“WELL,” Alfred huffed, ready to explain everything if he had to. “Our play _totally_ fell apart at the game last night. Like, it was embarrassing. And then butterfingers Brent just fucking fumbled out of nowhere...”

“Alfred, language.” Arthur scolded.

“Sorry!” He exclaimed, stuffing a chip in his mouth and continuing to talk despite chewing. “It was a mess, Dad. Maybe you'd know if you actually came for once.”

Oof, throwing punches already. Matthew winced, looking away. Arthur hadn't come to one of his games since Sophmore year, and as much as Alfred pretended like he didn't care, it did hurt his feelings. '_It's fine_,' He remembered his brother sniffling after he played his first Varsity game without his dad in the bleachers, '_I don't need him here anyways_.'

Arthur wanted to snap back, but held his tongue. Oh, he could get into it with Alfred any day. But if he wanted his troublesome son to actually show up tomorrow morning, he was going to have to play nice. “Fine, Alfred. Go to your meeting. How long do you think it'll take?”

“Oh, gosh, I don't know. Might take all night.” As their father turned back to dry the next dish, Al looked over at his brother and flashed him the 'cover me?' glance. The other twin closed his eyes and sighed quietly, but obliged.

“Yeah, Dad, their meetings are really in depth.” Matthew lied, aiding in his brother's sneaky efforts. He was by far the more trustworthy of the two, as far as their dad knew, and Arthur was more likely to listen to him than his brother. They knew this, and used it to their full advantage. “I mean, by the time they finish it could be midnight. It's probably best to stay over at whoever's house it's at than try to drive home that late, right?”

Alfred owed him for that one. That was good.

He made a solid point, and he could tell that their dad thought so too. Their omega father mulled it in his head before finally accepting it. “Fine, fine. But I need you to promise me you'll be back in time for brunch tomorrow. I'm serious, Alfred, it _is_ important.”

Al made a long, drawn out sigh like he was being majorly inconvenienced. It made Arthur twitch with annoyance, but he had to remind himself to _stay calm_ or Alfred would bolt. Luckily, the younger twin was a sucker for any plans that involved food. “Yeah, you got it, pops. I'll make it in time.”

“Good.” Arthur's response was pointed, but relieved. “10AM. Meet here.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Alfred absentmindedly ate chips with one hand, and tapped away at his phone with the other. Suddenly, he got to his feet and made his way to the door. “Oh, my ride's here. I'll see y'all later!”

They issued their goodbyes as Al ran out the front door, letting it close with a slam behind him. Arthur shook his head. He had no idea how Alfred could be so inconsiderate at times. Hopefully it was just a phase of his youth. After all, he himself had certainly matured over the years. As he stood up to dry another dish, he looked out the window to see the teen jumping into an old, beat up black Civic pulled up on the curb. The driver was some guy with ashy blonde hair, someone he'd never seen before around the house or in Alfred's team pictures at all, for that matter. He furrowed his brow suspiciously.

“Matthew?” He asked, pointing out the window at the car. “Who is that boy in the car? I don't recognize him. Do you know who that boy in the car is?”

Matt was confused, and turned his head to see his brother shutting the door before it pulled away from the curb. He managed to get a look at the driver before they left, and his stomach dropped when he recognized him. Why was Al still hanging around Ivan? He'd told Matt he called it off weeks ago.

Arthur was staring out the window, watching the car intently as it drove away, and Matt immediately jumped to his brother's defense before his dad could recognize the look of worry on his face. “Oh, yeah, that's Trevor. He's new on the team this year, I think.”

“Hm.” His father was still suspicious, but, thankfully, did not press the matter further. He shook his head and went back to drying to dishes. Figuring he was at his rope's end for lying tonight, Matthew put the chips away and went on up to his bedroom to relax.

* * *

In his room, Matt settled in to max comfort, leaned back on his bed with Netflix on his laptop and a bag of Hickory Sticks ready for the snacking. He'd had zero time to watch much of anything since Senior year started, and this was a rare Saturday night in where he'd get to do so. Finally he could finish his Black Mirror binge. It was a much needed quiet night for the teen. 

As he laid on his bed watching the screen and shoving thin smoky chips into his mouth, he noticed his cell phone light up with a text notification. He had to reach over Kuma to grab it, and saw his brother's name on the message.

  


**[omg bro thank u for covering, ur the best]**

  


Matthew chuckled and went to respond.

  


**[yeah no problem. you do the same for me you know]**

  


**[that's true lol]**

**[ur still the beeeest]**

  


He smiled. The two of them had an unspoken agreement to cover for each other whenever needed. It came in handy for Al more often than it did Matt, but he had his share of sneak operations that required some covert disguise sometimes. And, hey, speaking of sneak operations...

Matt tapped on the screen to inquire. 

  


**[hey, what was up with you and ivan? I thought you called it off with him]**

  


Three little dots in a blue box popped up, indicating that Alfred was typing. And then they went away. Weird, Matt thought. Maybe he was busy. He let it set for a few minutes, going back to his Netflix screen, but after a good five minutes Alfred still hadn't responded, and he was literally always attached to his phone. Matt squinted at the read receipt indicating that yeah, his brother had read it, and typed out another message.

  


**[al? you there? you have your read receipts on]**

  


The message was read almost immediately, but no response was given. Matthew figured he'd probably struck a nerve there, no use in waiting for a reply from his brother on that topic. He sighed with a slight laugh and set his phone down.

Set it down for a second, anyways.

Social media was a hard hole to get out of once it sucked you in, and Matthew was all too easy to draw in. He'd lost countless hours scrolling through Instagram or watching TikTok videos—it was just so easy to let it all keep playing. It didn't take him much time to get completely distracted from his show by watching through stories on Snapchat.

Emma was hanging out with her friends, snapping pictures of her feet propped up on the ottoman as they watched movies. Her younger brother Claude was there too, with a mud mask on his face making funny commentary on the movie they'd picked. 

Carlos was Snapchatting his dinner, with loud music playing in the background. Looks like he was having a good night staying in, too.

His brother's story was chock full, as usual. Matthew skipped to the more recent ones to see how the “football team meeting” was going. Unsurprisingly, it looked like it consisted of a lot of beer pong. He watched, smiling at how fun it looked like it was. Alfred was getting good POV shots of his throws, which were actually making it in the cups.

It cut to another angle to show his teammate making a throw, and Matthew had to replay the story to see it over again. Yep, that was Ivan. Playing beer pong with his brother. And making it in too, which was impressive, but still distressing to watch. Matthew was familiar with the history they had, and seeing that his brother was apparently keeping his relationship with him secret from even him made him all that more uncomfortable.

Ah, well. He made a mental note to bring ibuprofen for Al tomorrow—he'd need it, no doubt—and switched back to the home screen.

Oh, Lars had posted something.

Matthew opened it to see the camera panning around the store he worked at from where he stood at the cash register. The comment on the screen said it all: **[Deeeeeead.]**

He smiled from ear to ear. He'd had the biggest, dorkiest crush on Lars since they met during Freshman year soccer tryouts—a brief attempt by his omega father to get him into it, before Matthew discovered ice hockey—and it only got worse with every passing year. He was absolutely stuck on the tall, stoic Dutch boy. Since then, they'd become very close friends, and when he wasn't busy with hockey practice he spent a lot of time at Lars' house chilling (and packing bowls) with him and his friends. Tonight, Lars had to work at his part-time job in the city, hence why Matthew was cooped up at home by himself.

Well, that and he really had to lay off the weed smoking for a couple of weeks. Pre-season drug screenings were coming up for hockey, and if he wanted to pass, he'd have to wait it out for the next two or three weeks. 

But the weed was nothing compared to how much he just missed spending time with Lars. Pining over him as he wished he could just let him know how he felt. But his doubt always held him back. 

Speak of the devil, a text from Lars popped up in the top of his screen and he opened it with a quickness, wasting no time. As Alfred had commented the last time he saw him dive to open a text from the boy, damn, no chill. He couldn't help it. When the boy you're crushing on texts, by god you answer.

There was a picture of a box of product, with the shipping label covering words so the side of the box just said 'ASS.' Lars' commentary was dry wit: **[Oh cool we got our shipment of ass in.]**

Matthew laughed out loud and went to reply. This was the perfect, open opportunity to respond with something flirty. He typed it out first: **[oh but i'm here at home??]** and then stared at the screen before sending. No... wayyy too forward. He quickly backspaced and typed out something more tame, more safe.

  


**[hahaha omg, guess you could say it came on BACKstock]**

  


He grinned at the screen like an idiot as he waited for Lars' response. It came through as a laugh cry emoji and Matthew smiled even wider.

  


**[Lmao okay that's good. God it's so boring. How's your night?]**

  


Maybe he shouldn't be texting Lars while he was at work, but hey. You try telling a teenager not to text his crush back and see how well that goes. The omega glanced at his Netflix screen before shutting the laptop closed and getting cozy with his phone. Now he had better plans for the night.

  


**[ohh so wild. had to kick out the hookers already. so crazy]**

  


**[Hahaha okay sure Matt. Why didn't you send them my way, it's dead here.]**

  


Giggling like an idiot at the screen, Matt tap-tap-tapped away.

* * *

Arthur had made his way to Paulo's house for the evening, desperately needing someone to get his feelings out with before the brunch meeting tomorrow. There was no one he trusted more than him, his longtime friend and forever confidant. They'd been close since middle school, and Paulo had helped him and stood by him through the pregnancy and raising the boys. In return, Arthur had become his top study buddy and best pep talker, helping him get through the roughest parts of medical school. So of course he was the first one Arthur called to update him on the situation, and Paulo wasted no time in telling him to come over. They had a lot to discuss.

“I'm just so worried about how they're going to take it.” Arthur sighed, taking a sip of his tea. Normally they'd be drinking some wine or whiskey, but Paulo had wisely removed it from the options for the night. If Arthur wanted tomorrow to go smoothly in any manner, he'd have to hold off the alcohol for the night. “Matthew might take it alright but Alfred... well, you know Alfred.”

The alpha nodded, looking down at his own mug that was cupped in his hands. He'd helped raise the boys since they were born, he was all too familiar with how difficult the younger twin could be. “You're right. He's not likely to take it well.”

Arthur had wanted some reassurance, but Paulo always offered the truth. “What should I do?”

“I haven't the slightest idea, Arthur.” His friend's truth was frustratingly frank, and Arthur groaned. “You know what I think. You should have told them years ago.”

“Yes, you've made that quite clear. I'll make sure to just go back in time and do that, then.” Arthur bit back, but Paulo took no offense to it. He was familiar with how viciously sarcastic the omega could be, and knew that he never intended any harm with his words. At least not towards him, anyways.

“Sounds exciting, but I'm more interested in how you're going to handle the future.” He chuckled, sipping his tea. Arthur propped his arm up on the table and rubbed his face with his palm.

“They're going to be absolutely furious. The boys, I mean.” 

“Oh, yes they will.” Paulo agreed. “What is your response going to be?”

Arthur stopped. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He opened his mouth to think of a good reply, but the alpha stopped him.

“Knowing you, you'll meet their anger with even more of your own, making them even more upset, and demolishing the entire thing.”

The omega glared at him, and then took another sip of his tea to shut himself up. Paulo knew him better than anyone. Yeah, that's probably exactly what he was going to do. 

“My advice? Just think about your words before you say them. You have a tendency to be... snappy.” Paulo offered in good faith. He was 100% right. Arthur scoffed.

“You don't say.”

“See? There you go.”

“Okay, you're right. I do get... a tad testy, I suppose.” Arthur conceded. The other man raised his brow, but sipped his tea and let his friend continue. “I'll be cautious.”

“Good. You can thank me later.” 

Arthur made a fake scowl before taking a deep breath. He could try to act tough all he wanted, but he could never hide the truth from his dearest friend. The thing he was most afraid of was finally rearing it's head, and tomorrow morning he was going to have to face it. “This is going to change everything, Paulo. I'm scared.”

The fierce Brit rarely admitted something like that, but Paulo couldn't blame him. They'd been friends for so long, he knew everything he'd sacrificed to make sure his kids had a good life. Despite that, he was a workaholic, so dedicated to the paper and ensuring it's success that he was neglecting the two boys at a time in their lives when they needed him most. Being a teenager was not easy, and no amount of preparation could make it easier to go through, or to raise as a parent. He felt some compassion towards his friend on that front. Yes, he was as close as an uncle to the boys and he'd always be there at Arthur's side to assist, but he wasn't their father. 

And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't fill that role.

“I know. But, maybe, this isn't such a bad thing.” Paulo's reply was optimistic, offering that ray of light in all the darkness. Arthur looked at him like he was speaking madness.

“Let me explain.” He interrupted before Arthur could dismiss his input. “You _do_ need some help with the boys.”

“I don't _need_ help.” Arthur huffed.

Paulo could have reminded him of the countless times that he'd said that and then, turns out, actually DID need help, but he pressed on. “Look, all I'm saying is maybe giving Francis a chance isn't the worst thing in the world. Maybe having their father around might be a good thing for them.”

Arthur breathed deeply, looking off to the side to avoid his friend's gaze while he processed the suggestion. His eyes darted to the side to look back at him. “What if it isn't? I mean, he was nice back then but it's been seventeen years, what if he's changed?”

Paulo laughed. “You used to have green hair, Arthur. Now you're wearing sweater vests and going to bed at 10pm. If anything, you're the one who's changed.”

Arthur had to chuckle at that. Yeah, how the mighty had fallen. He used to be a counter-culture ruffian as a teen and now? He still loved the Sex Pistols, but he listened to them at a reasonable volume while folding laundry and cleaning his room. Paulo had helped him scrub the green Kool-Aid dye from his hair himself. “Touche.”

They both had a good laugh thinking about the past, and where they were now. If you'd told either of them this is where they'd be seventeen years down the road, they would have doubled over. Arthur, an editor and Paulo, a doctor. Arthur, raising two teenage boys by himself and Paulo? 

Still looking at his best friend's pretty green eyes and wishing that, in all these years of friendship, he would have said how he feels. Oof, how things change, and how they stay the same.

“Fine, you're right.” Arthur leaned back in his seat, accepting the sage advice. “I'll be open to it. I guess we'll... just see how things go but I'll try to stop being so guarded.”

Paulo nodded understandingly. It pained him to say these things, but it was the truth, and that was what best friends were for, right? “This is what the boys would want.”

“Yeah. You're right.” He sighed and drank the last of his tea, staring down at the empty teacup in his hands. “I suppose things are really going to change, aren't they?”

“Yes.” Paulo stood up to take both of their empty teacups to the sink. “But I can't think of a time or place where they didn't. You'll be alright. You all will.”

Arthur gave his friend a smile. He really hoped he was right.

* * *

**Sunday.**

  


The morning of the important brunch meeting found Arthur standing in the dining room with Matthew, angrily pacing as he waited for Alfred to arrive. They had time still, but he was starting to push it. “Where is that blasted boy? He said he'd make it on time.”

Matthew wasn't sure, Alfred still had not responded to his texts and he only got a **[yeah comin]** in response to his text asking if he was okay. At least he knew his brother was alive and conscious. But after what he saw on his story last night, he wasn't sure exactly what state he might find him in.

Just as Arthur was about to pick up his phone to dial Alfred again, the same beat up black Civic pulled up on the curb, and Alfred stepped out. His usual energetic bounce was absent, and he slowly stomped up to the front door with a raspy cough. '_Oof_,' Matthew thought, '_rough morning_.'

The second he stepped inside, Arthur started in. “Where the hell have you been?” 

“Sorry.” Alfred was quiet, and he looked awful. “One of the guys was sick and I think I must have caught it...”

Matthew rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what type of sickness his brother had caught. 

“Okay, well, you're still going.” Alfred had begun to slink off towards his room, and Arthur made sure to catch him before he could escape. “Take some DayQuil, change your clothes, and get back out here.”

Alfred huffed in irritation and went off to his room to put on clean clothes. Back in the dining room Arthur shook his head in disbelief.

“Really, I told him to be here on time! And he agreed!” He started ranting to Matthew, who sat silently. He wasn't about to jump in between Arthur and Alfred in an argument. They'd all been there before, and there were no winners in that situation.

Finally, Alfred came back out in a fresh t-shirt and jeans, his Varsity jacket laid over it. His hair was still a little disheveled, but he combed it with his fingers to get it to lay as flat as it could. “Alright, fine, I'm here. Happy now, Dad?”

“Yes. So happy.” Arthur picked up his car keys and led them to the garage. “Let's go. We can still make it in time.”

The drive there was tense, somehow. Matthew opted to sit in the back seat with his brother, who lolled his head on the headrest and closed his eyes, trying not to get sick from the motion of the car. Arthur didn't speak a word, just turned the radio on to fill the silence and stared straight ahead, rigid as a rock.

This was all super fishy. Matthew watched the roads fly by as they went past, anxiety making a heavy weight in his stomach. Hopefully their dad was just on another family meals kick. He seemed oddly serious about it, but that sure would be better than any other worst-case scenario running through his anxious brain at the moment.

They pulled up, stepped inside, and a man with shoulder-length blonde hair waved at the three of them. Was that the cop from when their house got busted into? Alfred and Matthew looked at each other and the younger twin let out a deep exhale.

Their dad had dated around over the years, but only a few times did he ever introduce them to his partners. He didn't last long in any of them, and it seemed like every time he got far enough for them to meet the boys, they fell apart shortly after. If Arthur had seriously dragged them out here to meet his new boyfriend, Alfred was going to rip him a new one right there at the table. That is, if he didn't vomit up his stomach contents first.

Matthew was just as uneasy, but he remembered the look on the officer's face when their eyes met before Arthur had slammed the door in his face. There was something different about him. He couldn't quite put his thumb on it, but something made him feel off seeing him again like this. That little pit of anxiety in his gut rumbled once more.

“Boys! Arthur!” Francis walked over, smiling from ear to ear with a fond expression that looked like he might burst forth in tears at any second. “It's so nice to see you!”

The teens were perplexed. Both of them looked back at his father for explanation. Arthur took a deep breath. “Boys, this is Francis Bonnefoy, he was the officer that came to respond to the break in. We have something important to tell you, which is why we decided to bring you to brunch today.”

Just then, the hostess called the four of them for their table. Francis was distracted looking at the boys with misty eyes, and only when they started to walk away did he realize they were moving to their table. He was brought back to attention and followed right alongside them.

Finally. His children. His Alfred and Matthew.

He couldn't believe it.

* * *

At the table, Al and Matt opted to sit next to each other, facing Arthur and Francis. Arthur was not too excited about having to sit so close to the frog, but he managed. There was silence at the table, with neither of the adults offering an explanation and Francis staring at both the boys with a tender, affectionate smile. He looked like he might cry.

“Okay, what gives? What is going on?” Alfred finally broke the tense silence, mild irritation on his face. “Did you really bring us here to meet another boyfriend, Dad?”

“No.” Arthur sighed. “Francis is not my boyfriend. But, uh, you do need to meet him. We decided to call you here because...”

He stopped, and Francis looked over at him. The words were stuck in his throat, and his mouth hung open trying to get ahold of them. Francis reached over to put his hand on Arthur's to comfort him. Touch was never a way the omega sought reassurance, and any other time having his hand held would make him jerk it away in a heartbeat. But having Francis' hand to hold at this moment put him at ease, and ever so gently he turned his hand over to hold his back. It was time. Despite everything... it was time. And they were going to tell them together.

“Alfred, Matthew.” He started, voice clear. “Francis is your father.”

There was no follow up explanation. Both boys looked at each other, then at Francis, then at their dad, expecting something to make sense.

“It's the truth.” Francis said with a nod. He was smiling so warm and tenderly.

“Wait,” Alfred sat back in his chair, waving his hands in confusion.

“What?” Matthew finished for him. This didn't make any sense.

“We... We met in high school.” Arthur continued, tripping slightly over the words. “It wasn't the... well, the best situation, but it's the truth.”

“I thought you said you didn't know who our father was?” Alfred was suspicious, and he had a sharp tone to his voice. Arthur knew that tone all too well. He was angry, and the outburst was just a few misplaced words away. 

Arthur pursed his lips. “I... wasn't exactly truthful.”

A new silence hung over the table, one with a decidedly more _tense_ atmosphere. Both the twins looked at each other, and then at the two men across from them in confusion.

“You lied to us?” Matthew was the first to pipe up. He was leaning forward, on the edge of his chair. By the wide-eyed look on his face, he was distressed. Also angry, no doubt, but his anger held a more distraught character to it. Matthew had always trusted their dad—always, even when things were rough and uncertain for their little family. To find out he'd strung them along on such a huge lie?

It was practically world-crushing for him.

God, this hurt. Francis let go of Arthur's hand, offering no more comfort. For this, he'd have to deal with it alone. After all, he made this mistake. It was his to clean up. Arthur shut his eyes and nodded. “I'm so, so sorry, boys...”

“You LIED to us!?” Alfred exclaimed with a fist slammed on the table, much, much louder than his quiet brother. Several diners turned to look at their them, and in that moment Arthur wished he could have sunk into the ground right then. “Dad, I have asked you so many times about our father. And you always told me you didn't know! You LIED?”

Arthur couldn't defend himself this time. He had no right to.

As he opened his mouth to try and pull _some_ insufficient response out, Alfred leapt to his feet. The sickness he'd been fighting all morning had finally won over and he turned on his heels, running off to the bathroom. They all watched him leave, and Arthur dropped his head with a sigh. There goes Alfred. And where he went, surely Matthew would follow. He shook his head, and then looked up at Matt, hoping and praying for some semblance of understanding.

If reassurance that things were going to be okay is what he wanted, he sure didn't find it on his other twin's face, either. Matthew's brows were downturned in a rare look of anger, something the boy didn't express often. He was always so easygoing, so understanding, and kind. But, well, that was before he knew his dad had kept such an important secret from him for his entire life. Things had changed, alright.

Matthew bit his lip and shook his head, trying to formulate words to respond with. If there were any words to express how angry, how hurt he felt, anyways. Arthur opened his mouth to apologize again, but the boy cut him off as he stood up as well. “I'm going to go check on Alfred.” Was all he said before storming off from the table.

Arthur watched them both leave him. This was what he was always afraid of. 

* * *

Matthew went to find the single-stall bathroom in the back of the cafe, breathing heavily. This was unbelievable. To hold such a huge secret from them, and then to just drop it over brunch like it was nothing? He was fuming, about as much as he could be in public. As he made his way towards the back, he paused to ask a server for a glass of water on the way, explaining that his brother wasn't feeling well. The server quickly handed him a glass and he thanked him, then walked over to knock on the door. Al had to be massively hungover after what he was up to last night—Matt knew he'd find him in the bathroom. “Al? Can I come in?”

“Yeah...” Was all he heard on the other side, and he turned the knob to find that Alfred had gone so fast he neglected to lock the door. His brother was sitting on the floor by the toilet, his hands in his hair. God he looked like hell, and Matt knew he sure felt like it.

“Here.” Matt walked in, making sure to lock the door, and handed Al the water and ibuprofen out of his pocket. He also pulled out a tiny little tin of maple sugar candies to offer one over to him. He always carried these on him, and he knew how much Al loved them too. Sometimes just a little sugar was all it took to revive the struggling teen on the floor.

“You're a saint, Mattie.” Alfred mumbled as he downed the water to wash down the pills, and followed up with that sweet little maple sugar mint. Damn, these things were like magic. 

“You look awful.”

“I feel awful.”

“I can tell.” Matt chuckled, crossing his arms as he remained standing. No way was he going to sit on this nasty bathroom floor with his brother, no matter how much he needed him right now. Ew. “You gonna be alright?”

Alfred had his elbow propped up on the toilet seat, his head leaning on his hand. He shrugged. “I don't know. God, can you fuckin' believe that?”

“About Francis?” Matthew asked, and he only had a shrug too. “I don't know.”

“No, that dad lied to us.” Al gestured with his hand, and then rested his aching head back on his palm. 

“Yeah, that's...” Matt couldn't think of the words. He was pretty pissed too. He didn't show it quite as obviously as his brother did, but he didn't want to even look at their dad right now. “... fucked up.”

“No shit.” Al took deep breaths. The water, painkillers, and candy were really doing the trick and his stomach had quit flipping. Matthew was secretly thankful he'd walked in after Al had got done yacking. “I want to go home.”

Matthew wanted to, as well. But he shook his head. Ever the responsible one between them. “We have to go back.” Al looked like he wanted to argue, but Matt kept on. “Believe me, I don't want to sit down with Dad either right now, but we have to go back. Besides.” He shrugged, pursing his lips a little bit. “I kind of want to get to know Francis. He seems nice.”

“Yeah...” Alfred reluctantly agreed. After taking a deep breath, he got up to his feet and dusted his pants off. “I guess you're right.”

Matthew chuckled. “Hey, I thought bathroom floor drunk wasn't supposed to last until the next day.”

“Shut up.” Al shot back with a small laugh. He really did have the best brother in the world.

* * *

This was, perhaps, the most awkward brunch ever conducted. Both boys had returned to their seats without a word to either parent, and Francis was the one to speak up when he realized Arthur wasn't going to be saying a word.

“So! Boys.” He clasped his hands in front of him on the table. How do you break the ice after all that? There wasn't exactly a Hallmark card made for this situation. “It's very, very nice to meet you, though the circumstances aren't exactly ideal.” He shot a pointed glance at Arthur as he said so, and the Brit rolled his eyes, looking away. Yes, he would be rubbing it in, thank you.

“Yeah...” Matthew awkwardly responded. Alfred was silent, poking around at his food with his fork. 

“So, well...” This was going to be harder than he thought. Francis wanted to know everything, but he didn't know where to start. He remembered seeing the sports memorabilia in the boys' rooms when they were doing the walkthrough. That was a start. “You two like sports, right?”

They both looked up, interested. “Yeah.” Alfred's response was brief, and he talked through a mouthful of food like usual. Matthew was slower and actually finished what he was eating before speaking.

“I play hockey, Al plays football.” He explained, just before reaching over to pick up the maple syrup and pour more on his pancakes. Francis could have grimaced at the amount he had doused on the little cakes, but opted not to. Apparently Matthew liked maple syrup. Like really, really liked maple syrup. He made a mental note.

“They're quite good, too.” Arthur offered, pointing his fork in the direction of each kid. “Matthew is a center on the school's ice hockey team, and Alfred is the quarterback for football.” Sports weren't exactly what he'd hoped they'd go for—he was hoping for a literary prodigy, or an artist—but still, he never missed a chance to express their accomplishments. 

“Wow! That's amazing.” Francis' eyes lit up. If only he knew a thing or two about sports so he could talk to them about it. He'd have to do some homework. “I've never met anyone who played ice hockey. That sounds interesting.” 

“Thanks!” Matthew smiled, looking up from his stack of syrup-drenched pancakes. Alfred was the popular one between them, and he usually faded to the background when next to his brother. It felt nice to have someone genuinely interested in him, too. “Hockey actually starts up here in a few weeks if you want to go to some matches.”

Francis was enthralled. Matthew was really reaching out here, and he couldn't be happier. “I'd love to! For both of you.”

Despite Matthew's enthusiasm for getting to know Francis, Alfred was still quiet. Arthur watched him suspiciously. It was very, very unlike the boy to not be talking, and even more unlike him to not be scarfing his food down like a wild animal. He must really truly be sick if he wasn't eating. “Alfred, are you feeling alright, love? You've barely touched your food.”

Alfred glared at him. “I'm fine.” He stabbed a piece of bacon with his fork and shoved it in his mouth. Oh, yeah. He was just _fine_.

“I'm just concerned because you said you were sick earlier.” His dad backed off. His son was... clearly pissed, but they could defer that for later at home. When there wasn't a diner full of strangers sitting around them.

Alfred gave a dry smile. “Yeah, you're right Dad. I am sick. I just found out that you lied to me about my father and now you're trying to just go along with brunch like it's not a big deal. And that? That made me feel pretty god damn _sick_.”

“Alfred--” Arthur began to scold him again for his language, but he kept going.

“NO, DAD! God, just stop!” He exclaimed, dropping his fork with a clatter and causing the other diners to turn and look at them. Again. “You lied to us both and now you just want us to get over it like it's no big deal? Come on!”

Arthur was mortified. He could feel the room full of eyes staring at the four of them. With gritted teeth he leaned in to mutter a stern warning. Paulo's words were echoing in his head and he was trying so, so hard not to lose it right now. “Alfred, _lower your voice_. We can discuss this _at home_.” 

“I don't want to discuss this _at home_, Dad. And stop talking to me like I”m a kid, I'm seventeen for Christ's sake.”

“I will stop talking to you like a child when you stop acting like one.” Arthur hissed, and the second he said it, he regretted it. Paulo had warned him not to get snappy, but Alfred knew how to push his buttons in just the wrong way to make him bite. He sighed as his son stood up, tossing his napkin in his chair with disdain.

“Fuck this, I'm Ubering home.” He turned to leave, but then stopped briefly. The French dude was not the one he was angry at—he'd truly done nothing wrong here. “Sorry Francis.” He apologized before storming out of the diner, nearly bumping into a server on his way out. 

Francis watched him leave, then looked to the side to see Arthur burying his face in his palms, elbows on the table. Matthew was quiet, chewing on a bite of sticky sweet pancake. With a heavy sigh the Frenchman stood up and followed his son out the door.

Once they'd left, Matthew and Arthur made eye contact. “Good going, Dad.” Matthew whispered. Such a quiet voice, and yet it hit so hard.

* * *

Damn the kid went fast. He was already on the curb with the Uber ordered by the time Francis got out the door and called out to him. “Alfred!” The teen whipped around, and only then did Francis realize. He was crying. His eyes were red and watery with tears, and he hiccuped loudly, sobs in his throat. Francis stepped forward cautiously, afraid to provoke the volatile teen a second time. “Alfred, I'm sorry.”

“Why?” He asked, crossing his arms around himself and sniffling. Even with the bulky Varsity jacket, he tended to get cold easily. Alfred was not built for the winters like this. “It's not your fault Dad lied to us.”

“No, it's not, but this isn't how I planned this to go.” Admittedly, it had played through as a more jovial and happy meeting in his head, but, well. Being a romantic and all, Francis was too familiar to wearing rose-colored glasses sometimes. “I do want to get to know you.”

Alfred inhaled, looking down at the ground, away from Francis. He swallowed hard and kicked the pavement with his shoe. “Me too.” His hand raised to wipe away tears, and once the words got out they just kept coming. “I wanted to meet you. For so long! I never thought I'd get the chance. He always told me that you were gone, that he didn't remember who you were.”

It was true, Alfred had always dreamed about meeting his father. When he was a kid he'd asked Arthur a million questions about what his father was like, and he always got the same answer: “_I wish I could tell you, love. I truly wish I could_.” He'd tell stories about what a cool person his dad was. Maybe he was a firefighter, or an astronaut. Or, maybe, he was a superhero! Of course, childish ideals gave way to reality the older he got, but he still always held out hope that he'd find him one day.

And now, to find out that their Dad had known the whole time and simply kept the truth from them? All of the memories were coming back now, with a painful edge that strung harder than it did at the time. 

Kids at school making fun of him for not having a father. And Arthur picking him up from the principal's office after the ensuing fight, scolding him for using his fists, but regretfully telling him he was sorry he did not know.

Heritage day, when he and Matt put together presentations about where their family was from and his brother innocently asked what they should put for their father's side. And Arthur hugging them both and telling them he didn't know, before helping them straighten out their construction paper Big Ben.

And _every single Father's Day_, when he and his brother made those little crafts at school and wished they'd find him one day.

Things weren't so difficult now—kids get a little less mean after you grow up and become a star quarterback, after all—but it still never left his mind. His football teammates, they all had their alpha fathers to make proud on the field and Alfred? He had Arthur. Who could truly care less about watching a ball get carried around a field for two hours. When he and his Dad fought, he always wished he had someone else to go to, someone to back him up or talk it out with. But he didn't. Arthur had kept that from him.

The tears began to come back in full force and Alfred choked, biting his lip and trying not to start sobbing openly. He was angry, he was furious, he was overwhelmed, and he was... sad. Seventeen years he'd missed out on. Where do they go from here? How do you develop a father-son relationship with someone you just met?

Francis understood. This was a lot to process. And, maybe it was risky, but he opened his arms to offer the kid a hug. He wasn't expecting Alfred to take it, at first, but it took him no time at all to nearly jump into his father's arms. He held his son, patting his back reassuringly and stroking his hair. A dam of emotions was breaking between them, and he hugged his son so tight to make up for all the years of not being able to.

Alfred's bear hug was astonishingly strong, and Francis wondered how on God's earth he was able to even be that strong at just seventeen years of age. It felt like his back might pop from the squeeze! The kid was sobbing and apologizing into his shoulder, and he just held him and let him get it out. All those years of confusion and longing were being cried out onto him, and he just patted Al's back to let him know he was here now. They were both choking with tears, words no longer having any meaning or necessity.

This. This was the heartfelt reunion he'd hoped for.

They finally pulled away and Alfred lifted his glasses, wiping away his tears with his jacket sleeve. A car with the Uber windshield sticker was starting to pull up, and Francis pointed to it. “Well, it looks like your ride is here. You should go on home.”

Alfred hesitated, and his father again held out his hand to direct him towards the vehicle. “Trust me, you're going to be seeing a lot more of me. I'm going to start coming over during the week, and I _will_ be going to your games. I promise.”

The teen smiled. He really had such a bright, vibrant smile. It warmed Francis' heart to see it. “Okay.... Okay, uh, can I call you Papa?.” He really wasn't sure what to call Francis. He already had a Dad. And he never really thought this far when he pictured how he'd meet his father.

_ Papa? _

Francis paused with his mouth open, and for a brief moment Alfred worried that he'd done something wrong. And then suddenly, the Frenchman smiled affectionately and pulled him in for another hug with a loving gasp. How did Al know he'd always wanted to be called Papa?

“Oh, Alfred. _Mon petitou_.” 

“Uh huh.” Alfred agreed, not understanding what it was Francis was saying. Finally, he backed off again, and hopped off the curb to the car. They maintained eye contact as he was driven away, waving to his father until the car turned and he couldn't see him anymore.

* * *

Not a word was spoken between the two omegas remaining at the table. This was a right mess. Arthur stared intently at his cup of tea as his thoughts began to swirl. God, who was he kidding? Thinking he could just make things right over a late breakfast like this?

Things would be fine, he'd told himself. He'd believed the kind words Paulo had spoken to him just the night before, and lo and behold. It was all lies. _Nothing_ was fine, and his delicate family he'd struggled to hold onto was falling apart right in front of him. Because of him. Because of his own _stupid_ mistakes.

Alfred was gone. He said he was going home, but who knows? He could have gone anywhere and really who'd have blamed him if he did? He was gone. He was leaving him. He'd fucked everything up, and his one son had already left him. It was only a matter of time until Matthew did too. '_Serves you right_.' That catty, cruel voice took over his thoughts. When did his mother come back? That bitch had to be long dead, what was she doing here now?

His breathing was piqued and he had to look downright mad staring at that tea like he'd seen his own death in the reflection. But, for what it's worth, Arthur kept _remarkable_ composure while having a stress breakdown. He didn't even notice that Francis had returned to the table and was standing right beside it.

“Dad?” Matthew's small voice was what finally pulled him out of his head, and he quickly looked up to meet Francis' eye. From the look on his face he was... not happy. 

“So, this was a disaster, no?” The alpha was blunt, and there was no denying it. This brunch had fallen apart faster than a soggy cookie. He'd had shits that lasted longer than this brunch.

“I'm terribly sorry, Francis.” Arthur apologized, but Francis cut him off, not wanting to hear any of it. This brunch was over. There was no need to torture them any longer with it.

“I believe it goes without saying, but we're done here. No need to drag this out any longer than necessary.” Arthur couldn't look him in the eye, but he agreed. They were the star attraction of the diner and he'd give anything to just get the hell out of here this instant.

Without words, they finished up and left. Arthur paid for the meal, as he should, Francis would have noted. Matthew boxed up the rest of Alfred's leftovers that sat forgotten on his plate—he'd want them later, he knew. They walked out of the diner silently, accepting defeat in the face of this obstacle.

“I know a few good lawyers. Perhaps we can work out a custody arrangement.” Francis mentioned in the parking lot. Arthur nodded solemnly.

“Yes. Perhaps we can.”

Matthew was silent. Just, in general. He wasn't loud, he wasn't outspoken, and more often than not he opted to say nothing than to speak up. But he couldn't let things just fall apart here. For years, he'd daydreamed about meeting his father. For _years_, he'd told himself that one day he would, and things would be different. They'd be a happy family, happily ever after. And, well, maybe this wasn't exactly happily ever after and they were far from a happy family, but... finally. Finally his father was here, and he wasn't going to let him get away.

Arthur was pulling his car key out of his pocket as they walked up to the vehicle when Matthew suddenly stopped, turning to face Francis. “I think you should start coming over to our house.” It took him so much to work up the guts to speak out that he'd unintentionally upped the volume more than he wanted to. Both of his parents stopped, surprised, and stared at him before responding.

Francis smiled, looked over at Arthur, and nodded. Pointedly. “You know what? I think that's a great idea.”

They both watched Arthur, car key in hand, stop mid-motion as he unlocked the car. Like he had any choice to refuse. “Yes, that would, uh, that would be swell.”

Matthew beamed. _Yes_. He didn't speak up very often, but he sure felt like he could move mountains when he did. “Oh! And I also need a French tutor.” He turned back to Francis, suddenly so perky and happy and excited. “Could you help me? Arthur's French is rusty.”

“Hey!” The omega defended. “It is not!”

Francis chuckled before bowing his head slightly, hand over his heart. “_Jen serais honoré, Matthieu_.” He smiled and made sure to look at Arthur as he did. The Brit rolled his eyes. Showoff.

“Great!” Matthew's excitement was breathy and rushed. He felt like he was floating! “So, we'll see you around, uh... Papa?”

Francis gasped, putting his hand over his chest in shock. Matthew also called him Papa! Without a word he moved forward and grabbed his older son up in a big, emotional embrace. Matt held him back, sniffling happily as the tears started to flow. Finally. His Papa.

“Yes, Matthew. You'll see me around.” He promised. And he meant it with all of his heart. Forget lawyers and lengthy custody battles. He was going to see his children now, Arthur be damned.

Back at the car, the defeated omega watched them embrace and could not fight a small, brief smile that crept up on his lips. Somehow, seeing the two of them gave him a little glimpse of hope.

Maybe things were going to be alright after all.

* * *

The rest of the day went by with very few words spoken between Arthur and either of his kids. Alfred had gone home as he said, and fell straight into bed to sleep off his hangover. Matthew had gone right to his room as soon as they returned from the restaurant. Several times Arthur walked by their doors and stopped, raising his hand to knock, but decided against it. No, they both needed time to process it.

As far as brunches go, that had to be the most dismal brunch he'd ever attended. Not that he was attending many brunches, but still. Oh, who was he kidding? He couldn't reasonably expect Al and Matt to just forgive him so quickly over a meal. Maybe it worked when they were kids, but they were practically adults now. 

Oh god. _Practically adults_. The reality began to set in and Arthur felt a small sob catch in his throat.

They were Seniors now, and they'd be graduating and going away to college this summer. This was, realistically, their last year at home with him, Francis or not. He'd nearly forgotten about it with everything that was going on, and the realization hit him like a freight train. How could he have forgotten? He was wasting precious time with his boys, and potentially just poisoned what little time he had left with them.

He had to make an effort to make things right. He had to, or before he knew it they'd be leaving him behind without looking back. Arthur got up from his bed and walked down the hallway to find their doors open, and this time, he didn't keep walking.

“... Boys?” He asked, looking back and forth between them to get their attention. They were both chilling on their beds, Alfred with his phone and reheated leftovers from that morning, and Matthew with a book open in front of him. Alfred stood up and took a few steps towards the doorway.

Arthur turned to look at his younger son, face softening. Bless the stars, Alfred was willing to forgive him. “Al...” He mumbled softly as the boy walked over to the doorway, looked his father in the eye...

And shut the door in his face.

Arthur jolted, and stood there for a second stewing in his shock and humiliation. He turned to look at his older son, hoping for a better reaction. “Matthew, I...”

Matt exhaled. He knew his brother was angry, and it would take a lot more to get him to come around, but he sometimes hated how much of the emotional labor fell on him. It was going to be his job to reassure their dad, no matter how upset he was at him. He stood up and walked to the doorway as well, holding onto the frame as he leaned.

“I can't say it's okay, Dad, because it's not.” He spoke, finally finding the right words to put it. It really wasn't okay, and as good as Matthew was at lying, he couldn't lie about that. His life had just been turned upside down over _brunch_, and it was going to take a long time for it to be okay. “You lied to us, and that really, really hurts. But I still love you, and I know Al does too.”

Arthur nodded, understanding. He'd hurt them. This pain was his fault, and he couldn't reasonably expect it to just be forgiven. “I love you too, Matthew. So much.”

His dad was starting to tear up, and Matt couldn't just stand there and not offer comfort. Their dad didn't cry around them. He was always putting on a strong front, British stiff upper lip and all. It felt wrong to see him like that, and while Matt couldn't forgive him, he could sympathize for him. Slowly he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his dad. Arthur sniffled and held onto his son tightly. _Please don't leave me, Matthew_, He thought, trying to fight back tears and failing.

They stood there in the hallway together before Matthew finally pulled away. “Just... give us some time, okay Dad?” Arthur nodded. He would give them all the time they needed, as long as it meant they were coming back to him.

“Of course, love.” He sighed, running his hand over Matthew's soft, long hair. The hair he knew he got from his father, and not him. He gave him a kiss on the forehead and then turned to go back to his room. Before leaving he knocked on Alfred's door one more time, just in case. “Alfred, I love you too. And I am sorry. I truly am.” 

No response. Arthur sighed. He'd tried.

Wishing his goodnights, he returned back to his bed, where he began to cry. Yes, things would change. And he could only hope the three of them would be alright.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit fluffy, hopefully it makes up for the sadness that was Chapter 3!

**September 2019. Thursday evening**.

A little under a week had passed since the disastrous Sunday morning brunch. Five days, to be exact, and with exactly zero words spoken between Alfred and his omega father Arthur. Five days, zero words, and one sticky note with a single word scribbled on it: “Gatorade”

When he found the note posted on the refrigerator, Arthur rolled his eyes and ripped it off to go address his son. He stomped up the stairs and stood in the doorway of the teenager's bedroom, holding the sticky note up on his finger incredulously. Alfred, reclined on his bed and doing a homework sheet propped up on his knees, spared him a glance, but remained otherwise unbothered.

“You can talk to me to get your groceries, Alfred.” Arthur snapped, receiving no response back. Without a single word, Alfred picked up his AirPods off his nightstand and popped them into his ears, then started to scroll through his phone for music. Nope, still not talking, it seems.

Frustrated to no avail, Arthur gave up, tossing his hands up and letting them fall to his sides. If his son wanted to be this troublesome, fine, let him. He had dinner to make. With a huff he turned to stomp back on down the stairs.

Francis was seated at the kitchen table with Matthew, books open in front of them, going over French conjugations. He was serious about needing a French tutor—foreign language was a requirement to graduate and he'd been struggling with his choice since day one. It didn't help that his brother met his requirement with Spanish three years ago, and his dad's French was far too long out of practice to be of any help. It was like a perfect coincidence that his father spoke the language!

They both paused, watching Arthur come storming back down the stairs into the kitchen. Alfred had spent some time with his newly found father over the past week, and they'd hit it off wonderfully. One look at the two of them and it became all too obvious where Al got his natural charisma and dazzling smile from. But he still refused to join in whenever Arthur was around. He was dead serious about this grudge, and aside from the single sticky note requesting sports drinks, he showed no sign of faltering.

Francis had been coming over every day after work, spending time with the boys and getting to know them. He booked it straight to the Kirkland house as soon as his day ended, usually meeting the boys as they were returning home after Al's football practice. Arthur, to his surprise, got home much later. No way the office couldn't be open that late during the week—surely he was staying later, for some reason or another.

No matter. He could care less about what the Brit was doing with his time. This evening time was for him, and Matthew, and Alfred now.

The agitated omega slapped the sticky note down on his wallet to remind him to get those blasted multicolored sports drinks the next time he went to the store, and stalked over to the fridge. Of course Alfred in all his angry, teenage passive-aggressiveness would make the request _ after _ Arthur had gone to pick up ingredients for dinner just the night before. Usually the kids would just reheat microwave meals or throw sandwiches together themselves, but with their father suddenly coming around in the evenings Arthur figured he should at least try to look like a functioning parent. You know, one that cooks family dinners and all that.

Matthew watched him dig around the ingredients in the fridge and slumped his shoulders in dejection. He was secretly hoping his dad would be tired after work and not feel like putting together dinner after all. Nothing against him, but his cooking was... lacking. He was a hard-working, self-sufficient omega who carried himself with pride and never gave up during trying times. But cooking? It was not one of his strong points. Oh well, Matthew could force it down to make him happy. Alfred would inhale just about anything you put in front of him. If he would come down from his room to eat, that is.

“Ohh, dinner? Am I invited?” Francis asked, raising his brows.

“You're here, aren't you?” Arthur pulled a package of meat from the fridge and went over to grab potatoes from the pantry.

“I'm touched.” Oh, what a heartfelt invitation. So kind. Francis turned back to his son, who still hadn't gotten through a single drill of the conjugation for _ manger _. Despite his struggles with the language, Matthew seemed less interested in learning and more interested in playing twenty questions.

“So, you said you came from France when you were six?” He asked. Conjugations could wait.

“Seven.” Francis corrected. “My parents moved here for work, and so along I came. They've since moved back, but I chose to stay.”

“Cool! They're still over there?”

“Yes. Would you like to see a picture?”

“Of course!”

Francis smiled. He pulled out his cell phone and began to sift through his photos to find the last one he took with his parents. They hadn't had much contact since moving back—he didn't always see eye-to-eye with them and they'd reached an unspoken, mutual agreement that their relationship is better with minimal contact. It worked, he saw them maybe once a year around the holidays and called sporadically, and they remained amicable. As was the delicate nature of parent and adult child relationships.

“Ah, here.” He finally found it, a smiling selfie he'd taken with his omega mother and alpha father the last time he visited Paris. He was taller than the both of them, and had his father's sculpted jawline but his mother's blue eyes and soft, blonde hair. “There's your grandparents.”

Matthew's mouth hung open in shock. Grandparents. He had grandparents after all! “Oh wow! Maybe we can meet them one day?”

Francis was hesitant, and Arthur picked up on it from by the sink where he was scrubbing dirty potatoes. “Yes, wouldn't they want to meet them, Francis?” He'd accepted he was wrong to hide the truth from their father, yes, but he couldn't just walk away from saying_ I told you so _.

“They, uh,” Francis put his phone away. His mother had hung up on him in disgust when he broke the news to her about the boys. Arthur was right—they were not pleased that he'd knocked up a random omega in high school, and wouldn't accept the new additions so easily. “They'll take some time to warm up to it.”

Arthur gave him a look before turning back to his muddy little potatoes. _ Told you so _.

Matthew was disappointed, but he tried hard to not show it. Ever the people-pleaser, ever desiring to just be liked. “Oh.” Was all he said, nodding as he sadly sipped his cranberry juice. “Well that's okay, I guess.”

“But you will meet them, I promise.” Francis was quick to follow up. And he meant it. They might not be too keen on the idea now, but he would make his parents accept Alfred and Matthew. They had no choice—these were their grandchildren, like it or not. They would meet their grandparents, and everyone else in Francis' life that never got the chance to see his kids grow up. “And you'll meet my best friends, Toni and Gilbert. I should take you in to the station one day so you can see where I work.”

“That would be cool.” Matthew agreed, but Arthur was not so sold.

“To a police station? That sounds dangerous.” He murmured just loud enough to hear.

“It's the station, Arthur. I'm not taking my sons to an active crime scene.” Really, did he exist solely to make pessimistic comments?

“I think it'd be cool to go see it.” Matthew piped up, disagreeing with his dad. The Brit just shrugged his shoulders, scrubbing at the potatoes even harder.

“As long as you don't miss your hockey practice.” Yeah, of course Arthur cared about his hockey practice now.

Francis beamed. He was just as excited for his best friends to meet his kids as he was at brunch. He pulled up his phone to try and find a picture of the three of them that was safe to show, when Matt asked another question.

“Have you ever arrested anyone?”

“Yes, plenty of times.” He was a cop, after all. It was part of his job.

“Have you ever been in a chase?”

“No, I haven't. I wouldn't want to be, either.”

Matthew was peppering him with questions, completely abandoning the French homework in front of him. He could learn how to say _ I am going to eat an apple _ later, right now he just wanted to learn about his father, what he did, what kind of person he was. Never in his life did he envision he'd get the chance—and now he just couldn't stop. There was so much to catch up on.

Behind them, Arthur's cell phone rang and he cursed as he hurriedly dried off his hands to answer it. His narrow, small shoulders made it difficult to balance the cell phone against his ear but, in the Kirkland way, he managed. “Hello?” He snapped into the phone, hands preoccupied with vegetables. “Yes, I can hear you, Lovino.

“What? What don't they like about it?

“You've got to be kidding me... You can't stay a little longer? Okay, fine, yes, you're right. Okay. I'll be there right away.”

Letting out a breathy curse, he hung up with a wet hand and dropped the half-cleaned potato in the sink. “I have to run back to work.” He explained, drying off his hands with a wash rag and heading towards the stairs. Really, Lovino couldn't stay just a tad past his time to get the revisions done? “Our printer isn't happy with the way things were sent out and our copy editor can't stay any later to get things right. He's leaving, and I have to go in to pick up the slack.” Days like this reminded Arthur that he was not getting paid nearly enough to deal with things like this, but on his life he swore he wouldn’t let the paper fail. Not for anything.

“Oh, I'll be happy to finish dinner.” Francis offered. Cooking happened to be one of his talents, and he would be more than happy to make something delicious for the boys. Arthur shrugged. Not like he had any say the moment he left the house.

“Fine, go nuts. Just don't burn the bloody house down. Already took a sacking, doubt the insurance will appreciate a fire on top of it all.”

Arthur beelined up the stairs for his closet, throwing on something to keep him warm and make him look at least somewhat presentable. Not like anyone would be there aside from him, but still. Rarely did he leave the house not looking at least somewhat put together. It was a habit that had been slowly ingrained into him since he became a young parent—developing your career and making a name for yourself is all that much harder when you're struggling to make ends meet and wrangling two children on top of it all. If he wanted to be taken seriously, he had to look the part.

Once dressed, he went to fly down the stairs again but paused. Alfred was still in his room. Hesitantly, he made one more attempt at contact with the boy. He stood in the doorway of his younger twin's room, ignored again as usual.

“Alfred,” He spoke, “I'm leaving back to work. I'll be home later.”

No response. Al stared straight at his homework, not even bothering to give his dad a sideways glance. Arthur took a deep breath and gave up, stomping back to his room. Fine, if sticky note speaking terms were all Alfred was willing to give him, he could deal.

He picked up a sticky note pad off his dresser and scribbled down his words: **[Heading into work. I'll be home later.]** The pen was slammed back down and he marched back into his son's bedroom. This time Alfred glanced up at him with annoyance, and Arthur slapped the sticky note smack dab in the middle of his homework. He stood up, quite proud of himself, and put his hands on his hips. Two could play at this game.

Alfred curled his lip in agitation and read the note. He glared up at his dad, crumpled it in his hands, and tossed it in his face. The tiny wad of paper bounced off Arthur's shoulder and hit the ground with a soft _ pat _.

Arthur's nostrils flared in anger, staring down his insolent, rebellious child. He felt the aggravation boil in his stomach but, by some act of God, kept his outburst contained. Mostly. With a frustrated yell he turned and stormed out of the boy's bedroom. He had work to finish, and he did not have the fucking time to deal with this right now.

Descending the stairs in a rage, he passed by Francis and Matthew with barely any words before snatching his car keys and shoving his wallet in his pocket. Curses were flying in hushed mumbles under his breath, no doubt swearing up and down about his troublesome, wretched little son who wouldn't even speak to him. Everyone else seemed ready to move past this, why was Alfred being _ so difficult _?

Matthew looked away, and Francis could tell that this wasn't the first time this situation had happened for either of them. Arthur was, no doubt, a workaholic. Alfred was, no doubt, difficult. And Matthew was, no doubt, tired of it all. His British omega dad suddenly remembered him before getting out the door, and ran back to give him a kiss on top of his head. Alfred never let him give head smooches anymore, complaining that he was ‘_ ughhh _ , _ too old for that, Dad _,’ but Matthew still appreciated the affection. “I'll be home later, love.” His angry curses gave way to a soft, almost sad farewell, and then he was out the door. There was always more work to be done.

Everything had happened so fast that Francis hadn't dared say anything. Once the sounds of Arthur's car were long in the distance, Matthew sighed and put his cheek to his palm. Francis was silently pensive. The dynamic was absolutely dysfunctional, and he wasn't sure he was the one to solve it.

“Well,” He interrupted, standing up. “I guess I'll get started on dinner, then?” A decent cut of meat and some potatoes? Oh, he could whip something up no problem. And Arthur had already done half the work of washing the dirty little spuds anyways.

“Do you need help?” Matthew offered. Not that he ever truly wanted to help, but it was polite to offer, and so he did. An instinct, mostly.

“_ Non _, Matthew. I have it covered. Would you mind going and getting your brother?” With Arthur gone, Alfred was more likely to come down and socialize with the two of them. It had been like that since Francis had started coming over. With Arthur in the room, Alfred was quiet and made a very pointed effort to not have any contact with his dad. But as soon as he left, he was the same old happy, energetic boy who just couldn't shut up.

“You got it.” Matthew went to fetch his brother, but the younger twin was already walking down the stairs, the coast clear now that his dad had left the building.

“Sup y'all!” He chirped, bouncing off the last step and slipping just past his brother as he entered the dining area. Matt had to dive to the left to avoid a collision. Few things were strong enough to withstand being between Alfred and food. A brother, no matter how loved, was not one of them.

Francis smiled with pride as he tied his hair back. It was time to introduce the boys to the glory that was Chez Francis.

* * *

The food their father set in front of them smelled divine. They weren't used to this level of cooking, and Francis could tell when Alfred's first instinct was to check the steak over for any burnt pieces to cut off. Nope, not a lick of burnt meat to be found here. Just a delicious, caramelized char to lock in the flavor, which was superb.

“Does your dad cook often?” Francis couldn't help but ask, watching the surprised reactions from both boys as they devoured their homemade cuisine.

“Not really.” Matthew provided, swallowing down his food first.

“His cooking sucks.” Alfred was far more blunt, and he didn't bother waiting to finish chewing before responding.

Matthew raised his shoulders. He hated to trash their dad the same way Alfred did, but, well... “He's not wrong...” He mumbled, agreeing quietly. “But this is really, really good.”

Okay, it did make Francis feel a _ little _ giddy that his cooking was better. It was definitely a skill he took pride in, and he was a tad anxious about how they would receive the first dinner he cooked for them. To see them happily chowing it down just made his heart swell. Maybe Alfred could have some better manners, but that was a concern for another day.

“_ Merci _.” He smiled, sitting tall with pride. This was just a quick meal thrown together in a pinch—he couldn't wait to really knock their socks off with a full Michelin-grade course.

“God, I'm so glad he went to work.” Alfred started in. “I wish he'd just stay there.”

Now, Francis was just as petty as the next person, but he paused before joining in on the Arthur trash-talking. Every natural instinct in his body was directing him to say something, something that would no doubt be venomous and catty and make Alfred laugh and like him a little more. But, as much as he disliked it, Arthur was still his boys' dad, and it would do no good to instill a “me vs. him” mentality right now. If he wanted to co-parent successfully, he'd have to play nice.

So he bit his tongue and shook his head.

“Let's not talk about Arthur right now.” He tried to be diplomatic and kind before changing the subject. “I'd rather get to know you two than hear about bushy brows.”

Both boys exchanged looks. Alfred's was annoyed, easily detecting the clear attempt at shutting him up. Matthew just shrugged his shoulders, in agreeance with their father.

“So,” Francis continued, sticking his fork in his potatoes. They were, of course, deliciously creamy and fluffy with just the right amount of herbs. “Matthew has been asking me eight million questions about myself but I want to know about the both of you. How do you like school? How's Senior year going?”

Alfred snorted. “Really? You want to talk about school? It's boring, no one likes it, we just have to be there eight hours a day.”

Francis tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Okay, fine. Let's talk about something more interesting. Are there any special alphas in your lives I should know about?”

Both boys paused and looked each other in the eye. Their romantic relationships were... well, there was a lot to unpack there. And Matthew still had _ quite _ a few questions for his brother about what he saw on Snapchat the past weekend.

“... Omegas, maybe?” Francis offered when he got no response. How thoughtless of him, to assume they were into only alphas.

“Uh, not really.” Alfred shrugged, poking at his food. Matthew's mouth hung open. He was lying! Liar!

“Yeah but you could say you have a type though.” The older twin said quickly, shoving a bite of potato in his mouth. Alfred looked up from his plate, a serious expression on his face as he stared at his brother.

“Oh?” Francis was oblivious, but interested. This was his forte. “And what might that type be?”

Alfred smiled coyly, figuring playing along was the best way to get through this. Matt couldn't hold anything over his head that he didn't already admit out loud. He danced his shoulders a little bit as he spoke in a singsong voice. “Tall, handsome, kinda quiet, built like a tanker engine.”

“Russian.” Matthew added. When his brother's eyes snapped back to glare at him for that comment he looked away, innocently chewing a piece of meat.

Maybe it was a twin thing, but the two of them had perfected the art of communicating using only a glance. Alfred's eyes shone. _ I'll kill you _ , his eyes said. Matthew looked back with a nonchalant, almost taunting gaze. _ Try it _, he replied.

“... Oh?” Francis was the voice to pull them out of their little nonverbal conversation. He raised his brows at both of them, ever curious and wanting to hear more.

“It was nothing.” Alfred dismissed quickly, looking back and forth between his brother and his father. “It was just a summer fling, that was it. Please _ please _ don't tell my dad.” He begged Francis. If Arthur found out he'd been sneaking around with an alpha boy all summer he'd be dead. Let alone _ this _ particular alpha boy.

Francis raised his brows. He loved secrets. And if it was a chance to get his son to trust him a little bit, sure, he could keep that little summer fling a secret. No harm, no fowl. “So are you still seeing this Russian boy?”

“No, god no.” Alfred laughed nervously. He picked at his potatoes again, and looked up to see Matthew's stupid suspicious face staring at him. “I'm serious. I called it off, Matt.”

“Uh huh.” Matthew didn't believe him for a second. He saw the Snapchat story and all. “And that's why--”

“Last weekend. I called it off last weekend.” Alfred snapped. “For good this time. It's over.”

Matthew's eyes narrowed as he watched his brother avert his gaze, angrily shoving more mashed potatoes into his red face. He wasn't sure how much he believed him.

Al didn't think Matthew knew anything about it, but the quieter twin saw much more than he let on.

He'd seen them under the bleachers when he went to pick Al up once, sharing a cigarette (which he rightfully chewed his brother out for later) and taunts. Their biting, vicious taunts that sounded a little too harsh to be playful sometimes. And then, out of nowhere, Ivan had grabbed his brother's face with a roughness that made even Matthew jump in wretched surprise. The Russian's huge hand grasped his jaw and pulled him in for a kiss, and Matthew knew his brother was stronger than he looked, he _ knew _ he could throw the alpha over his shoulder if he so desired. But he didn't. Matthew sat in the truck in shock as he watched his brother kiss the boy _ back _.

He'd seen the deep purple bruises on Alfred's neck that summer, only ever there after he came home from being out with the alpha. '_ What, you've never seen a hickey before? _ ' He remembered Alfred teasing him, but no, he'd never seen a hickey quite that big or quite that _ dark _ before. And maybe it was the redness around his neck, or the accompanying welts and bruises on the rest of his brother's lean, tan body, but something made him think hickeys weren't the only sort of mark Ivan was leaving on his dear brother.

And even before this summer, he'd sat with his brother in the nurse's office Freshman year, after they'd gotten into a spat and Ivan had broken his nose with a single punch. Neither of them had ever seen their Dad so furious when he came to pick up the sobbing, bleeding boy.

He knew the history between the two of them, and that's what made him all the more suspicious when he found out they'd started dating over the summer. Well, Alfred would never call it dating, but Matt wasn't sure what else you could call it.

Francis was clueless. He just looked back and forth at the two of them, wondering what the hell was going on. Perhaps there was some jealousy? Ah, teenage crushes. “Sorry to hear that, _ cherie _. But you know there are always more fish in the sea. You don't want to tie yourself down too young!” He and Alfred exchanged a happy smile, and then he looked over at the other twin. “Matthew? What about you?”

The violet-eyed omega was jerked back to attention and he paused for a moment before shaking his head. “Well, not--”

“Oh my god, he's soooo into that Dutch dude. Lars.” Alfred piped up. If Matt wanted to do this, well, he could play too.

“No, I'm not. Well, I am, but. It's...” He looked over at his father, sighing. “He's my best friend. It's complicated.”

“Ahh, I see.” Oh, poor Matthew. Developing feelings for your best friend. “What is he like?”

“Tall, stoic, soooOOOoooOOOooOOO handsome. And rich as hell. ” Alfred butted in, exaggerating to embarrass his brother. A hint of a blush crept up on Matthew's face as he took a sip of his cranberry juice.

_ Cranberry juice _. Oh, Alfred knew why Mattie was drinking so much damn cranberry juice. He grinned and leaned back in his chair, making his brother stare at him with a suspicious gaze.

“So, Matt, good cranberry juice huh?”

His brother nearly choked on the juice and hurriedly put the cup down, dabbing at his lips with a paper napkin. God _ dammit _. Alfred knew. Of course he knew, he was the one who told him about this stupid trick Sophmore year prior to his own pre-season drug tests. You drink enough cranberry juice, and it'll flush out the THC in your system so you can pass the drug screen. Matthew had been so good about abstaining, but, well...

Tall, stoic, _ handsome _ Lars had invited him over yesterday and he just got a new strain from his weed guy. Like hell Matthew was going to say _ no _.

Having a crush was hell.

As soon as he realized what he'd done, and how soon the pre-season screens were, he panicked. And so here he was, chugging cranberry juice like his very life depended on it. But if you were Matthew and it involved hockey, then yeah, your life kind of _ did _ depend on it.

The older omega set the cup down, smiling tightly. “Oh yes. Delicious. Love that cranberry juice.” Alfred gave him a pointed, shit-eating little grin. Dick.

Francis had no fucking clue what was going on. Matthew liked maple syrup, and he liked cranberry juice. Mental note made.

In all seriousness, he was so thrilled to find out his boys did have love interests. Thank god. He'd be crushed to find out they were lonely, single little teens wasting away their youth in their rooms! “Well, for what it's worth, I think you're quite a catch, Matthew. And no, I'm not just saying that because I'm your father. This Lars boy would be lucky to have you.”

Matthew couldn't help a meek, but genuine smile. It did make him feel good hearing that. Compared to Alfred's incessant taunting and Arthur's stern '_ No, no dating, focus on your schoolwork _' it was nice to hear a little encouragement sometimes. His self esteem didn't get too many boosts like that. “Thanks, Papa.”

“Of course.” Francis stood up to clear their plates. They could leave the dishes for Arthur to do later. “You're a bright boy, you'll know what to do when the time is right. And if you don't, well, lucky for you, I am here.” He dramatically waved his hand over his heart as he whisked the dishes off to the sink. Matthew laughed. He did feel pretty lucky.

* * *

After dinner they'd moved to the couch in the living room, hanging around and chatting. Usually there'd be some sports game playing with Alfred absentmindedly watching, but they had yet to replace what was stolen in the break in. So, they had to make do with each other.

Francis was entertaining them with wild stories about his time on the force, crazy things he'd run into while on patrol and some of the most outrageous calls he'd been forced to respond to. It was fun—getting to sit here and chat and just enjoy each others' company. He was learning ever more about both boys, about what polar opposites they both represented. Where Matthew was quiet and reserved, Alfred was loud and bold. Where Matthew was polite and meek, Alfred bounded in and threw all semblance of manners to the wind. It was something else having them both here in the same room together, and difficult to believe that either one of them were raised by the stuffy, unsociable Brit.

But he loved them. He'd only known of their existence for a week, and already he loved them more than he could ever imagine.

A happy silence fell over them at a lull in the conversation, and Alfred's voice was oddly soft with a serious, curious question.

“Could we live with you?” 

Francis paled. While he thought the nude portraits hung on his walls were tasteful, Arthur might disagree. He'd have to do some cleaning up before his apartment was deemed suitable for the teens to visit. “Of course, _ mon cher _. I'll have to tidy the place up first, but I see no reason why you couldn't come visit.”

Alfred shook his head. “No, I don't mean visit. I mean, could we come live with you, Papa?”

The silence fell again, heftier this time around. Matthew leaned his head back against the couch. Alfred continued.

“Pleeease? I hate it here! Dad is the worst, and I'm _ so _ sick of him.” He let out an angry huff, crossing his arms. Things had only gotten more strained between the two of them as he got older. It was like the two of them were fire and kerosene, thrown in with a good mix of angsty teenage emotions. “AND he lied to us! I don't ever want to talk to him again. Period.”

Francis bit his lip. It was true; he was, at his core, petty as all hell. He'd once baked pastries with laxatives in them to catch whoever was stealing his lunch from the break room fridge at work. Yeah, maybe he felt awful when he saw Gilbert running to the bathroom later in the day, but still. Pettiness was a part of Francis' nature, a natural instinct he acted on without conscious. And he was still not quite ready to forgive Arthur.

But on the other hand, this was his family. Alfred and Matthew were his kids, and Arthur was their parent.

Oh wow. His family.

Sitting there on the couch, reality began to wash over him, and he took a deep breath as he let it be so. This was his family, forever. Arthur would not be going away any time soon. If he wanted this little family to be happy, he'd have to get to know the ornery Brit. And _ as much as he wanted to say something _ he'd have to politely decline Alfred's enticing invitation to trash talk him in this moment.

“Alfred,” He began slowly, looking over at his son. The boy's brow was furrowed and pleading. He desperately wanted his Papa to save him, to take him away from Dad and all of this. Francis wished he could make that frown better, but he knew it wasn't his place. He could hold this over Arthur's head for the rest of their lives if he wanted to. But that would benefit nobody. He was going to have to learn to forgive him, and it started here, by defending him when he wasn't around. “He's your dad. I know... things aren't ideal. But this isn't a grudge worth holding.”

The teenager sat up in surprise and looked at him with a scrunched up expression, offended. “What the hell? You're defending him?”

“No, I'm not. What he did was wrong. He knows that, I know that, you know that. But... things were different back then. We were hardly even your age at the time.” He chose his words carefully, diplomatically, praying he was navigating this conversation correctly. “Neither of us planned for it to happen, and we didn't know what to do.”

Alfred looked away, annoyed. Dad had lied to him. He'd kept his father away for his entire life. How do you just get over that?

Unsurprisingly, the teen was not accepting of Francis' explanations. And he understood that. Even as he said the words himself, he wasn't sure how much he believed them. Maybe another approach might work. The French alpha shifted before asking. “What were your lives like growing up?”

The sudden pivot made both boys think. “I don't know.” Matthew shrugged, suddenly speaking after being so silent. “Dad was gone a lot. He was always working.”

“We spent a lot of time with our Uncle Scott and Uncle Paulo.” Alfred added. There were times they felt like they spent more time with them than with their own dad.

“We used to live in the city.” Matthew pointed out. “In an apartment. When we left Uncle Scott's house.” Neither of them really liked remembering that apartment. They had much preferred living with their uncle. In the tiny little apartment they all had to share one bedroom, and the bigger both boys got the smaller the place became. None of their school friends ever came over, partially because it wasn't the _ best _ area, and partially because there just wasn't any space for them to play. That, and as they got older, they realized they were maybe a bit too old to be sharing a bed with their dad.

“We moved out here when we were in middle school.” Alfred remembered that. He had to switch schools abruptly and wasn't able to play baseball because of it. At the time he'd been devastated, but now, it didn't seem like such a big deal. Funny how things turn out like that.

“Yeah. I do like it out here.” Matthew smiled a little bit. They had their own rooms, and a backyard for Kuma. The dog had damn near demolished the little apartment, and they had to pull off a magic trick of epic proportions to hide him whenever the landlord came by. At the time Arthur had made it out to seem like a fun game, but it frightened Matt now to think about how close he came to losing his best friend if they had gotten caught.

Hearing this, Francis began to understand Arthur a little bit more. No one could ever assume it would be easy raising two kids alone, but from the sound of it, they really struggled in the past. And yet, here they were, healthy and safe. Who could blame him for being a workaholic? “See? Your father worked hard. He still does. To make sure you both have a good life. I don't know if I could have done the same.”

They were both pensive, quiet. Kids never do think about the things their parents sacrifice for them, do they? Francis kept going. “I loathe to think of it, but what if it happened to you? Your dad didn't have a support system like you do here. He did it alone.”

They remained silent and their alpha father glanced between the both of them, offering a warm smile. “And I may be biased, but I think he did a terrific job of raising two wonderful, amazing boys.”

Matthew smiled back but Alfred did not give a hint of a response, his head leaned against the back of the couch as he pondered what his Papa had said. He was dreadfully stubborn—a trait he'd inherited from Arthur and a fact he'd deny to his dying breath—but he was coming around to understanding the other side of things. Not once had he ever truly pictured himself in those shoes. That was what happened to other omegas. Not him, never him.

Empathy was not a strong point for the headstrong young omega. But he attempted it. To picture himself in that situation. To imagine what would happen if something went awry and he found himself sitting on the edge of his bathtub with a little pink plus sign staring him down.

It was scary.

The thought made him unsure and confused, so he did what he always did when his feelings didn't quite make sense. He looked over at his brother for some guidance. Whether he meant it or not, Matthew was his anchor, and he always looked to him when he needed some reassurance. The older twin gave him an encouraging smile. ‘_ He's making sense _ ,' it seemed to say. ' _ Give Dad another chance _.’

A hand on his shoulder interrupted Alfred's internal thoughts. His father was offering him gentle, kind support. “We can't change the past. He is still your Dad, and I'm still your Papa, and from now on we are both going to love you two regardless of what's happened. That I can promise you.”

Alfred was reluctant, but finally conceded after mulling it over in his head. “Okay. I'll give Dad another chance. But only because you asked me to, okay?” This wasn't his idea. No, not at all. Of course he didn't want to speak to his dad again and give him a huge hug like when he was a kid. Absolutely not.

“Thank you.” Relief fell over the French alpha like water. Alfred sure was a difficult one. But emotions were Francis' forte, and he felt like he was beginning to understand the kid. He had a stubborn facade all too common with being a young adult just barely coming into adulthood, and emotional maturity hadn't quite landed yet. But he was a child yet, and he still needed his dad, as much as he didn't want to admit it. It was apparent in the hurt in his face, his solemn nod, and the way he wrapped his arms around himself like a hug.

That relief hit Matthew as well and he smiled to himself, looking down meekly. Living in the perpetually neutral middle ground between Alfred and Arthur was exhausting, and of course it had only gotten worse as they got older. This past week had been hell as his twin exercised the most bitter application of The Silent Treatment he'd ever seen on their poor dad. If Alfred was finally coming around and was willing to bury the hatchet on this quarrel? It would make his life a _ whole _ lot easier.

Alfred was curled up in himself on the couch, holding his knees up to his chest. Francis rubbed his shoulder gingerly and the boy sighed, looking up at his father and his brother. Things were rough in the midst of teenhood, but with the two of them by his side? Maybe he'd be alright. And _ maybe _ he could patch things up with his dad. “I love you both.” He mumbled quietly, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

Francis let out a gasp and cooed something in French, leaning forward to wrap his son up in a big, tight hug. Matthew grinned, wasting no time in jumping to his feet and rushing over to jump on top of Al on the other side. “GROUP HUG FOR ALFIE.” He shouted as he threw his arms around him and squeezed. The two of them smothered Alfred on the couch, where he whined and smacked his brother's back, begging them to let him free. No use, he was trapped.

When he couldn't fight it anymore, he began to laugh, hugging them both back. Yeah, things would be alright.

* * *

Around 10:30 the boys finally went up to get ready for bed. Remarkably early for teenagers, Francis thought, but then again these were busy boys with sports and academics and healthy social lives. You don't get through all that on five hours of sleep. Their dad hadn't returned home from work yet so Francis decided to stay, browsing through his phone until he could be sure they weren't left by themselves.

It was 11 o'clock when Arthur finally stepped in the door, seeming oddly exhausted and out of breath. He nearly jumped out of his socks when he saw Francis, not expecting him to still be here. “Oh,” He spoke coolly once he regained his composure, shrugging off his coat and setting his wallet and keys on the counter. “You're still here.”

Francis stood up, and decided not to say anything about the pack of cigarettes he'd set down next to his wallet. Every day the enigma of Arthur Kirkland displayed something new. “The boys went up to go to bed. I'm impressed at how well they stick to their bedtime.”

“Oh, well, they've always appreciated a good night's sleep, thank the stars.” He seemed out of breath as he shook out his coat and hung it up by the doorway. No doubt he'd rushed home after the work was completed—eager to return his watchful eye over the household. If he didn't have a full-time job to worry about, Francis could see where Arthur would meet the definition of a helicopter parent.

“That's good. It's important for young bodies to get good sleep.”

“Yes, it is.”

What a mundane conversation. Something seemed off. Like Arthur was on the defense, expecting a fight of some sort. He had yet to display any variety of the word _ relaxed _ when the Frenchman was around. It was as if he was looking for something to be upset over. But the boys were in bed, Francis hadn't burned the place down, and it was quiet. Peaceful. Strange. As the omega walked to the kitchen, Francis followed. He’d had a lot to think about tonight, and it was time to just get it out there.

“Arthur, I think we should have a discussion about this situation, and how things are going to work. You know, as a family.”

Arthur turned to look at him, wide-eyed, pausing with his cup held under the faucet. It was nearly impossible to get a read on his feelings with those big, bushy eyebrows of his, but he didn't exactly jump for joy at the suggestion. Francis put his hands in his pockets, casual as ever. Maintaining that unassuming presence.

“I'm going to be a part of the boys lives. And I don't think being entirely separate is going to be the best approach. However we do this, we need to do it together, and for that, we have to be on the same page.”

The prickly Brit nodded, turning the words over in his head. “Yes, you're right. Or, well, I agree with you on that.”

That was surprisingly easy, Francis thought. Thank god this wouldn't be a fight. “What do you say we meet for lunch this next week? Unfortunately I'm on call this weekend, but I think talking this over just the two of us will do some good.”

“That sounds like a fine idea.” His expression remained unchanged, a true expert in hiding his emotions and putting on a solid poker face. But to say Arthur was relieved was an understatement. He was being given a chance, and he felt like he was flying with how that heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders. If Francis wanted to talk this out one on one, then fine, he'd talk it out as much as he wanted.

“How does Le Corusse Rouge sound? This Monday, for lunch.”

“I do believe I can make that, yes.”

“Fantastic. Well... I suppose the boys might be in bed by now, and I have work early tomorrow morning, so I'll be heading out. I'll be back tomorrow, _ oui _?”

“_ Oui. _ Er, yes.”

Francis smirked at that, and a hot red covered Arthur's face.

And with that, he made his departure. Arthur stood in the kitchen, watching the taillights disappear down the street.

* * *

The moment those red lights at the back of Francis' car were gone, the tension just fell out of Arthur's thin shoulders. Work was, of course, a hassle. He'd spend half the night on the phone with the publisher arguing that _ yes, we've sent over the corrected photographs and no, we aren't using that one anymore _ and editing and editing and editing the pages half to death. Why did they even still employ Lovino if he was going to give them half-assed work and not even bother to stay to ensure they got printed correctly?

Whatever. It wasn't like it was anything new. The publication had been struggling even more in recent years, and of course, it fell on Arthur's shoulders to go in and sweep things up when they fell apart. Like usual.

But then, a part of him wished he could just stay at work, consumed by the problems there so he wouldn't have to come home and deal with the problems _ here _. On the way home his mind began it's typical downward spiral, replaying the interaction with Alfred over and over again, and no matter how loud he turned the music up it just wouldn't drown it out. His ride home was flustered thinking about how he was going to make things right, and what if he couldn't make things right, and if they'd even still be there when he got home?

He was exhausted.

Taking his glass of water, the omega let out his held breath and made his way up the stairs. Time to get ready for bed so he could do this all again tomorrow. Joy. He got up to his room and almost walked right in without noticing the small blue post-it note stuck to it at eye level. The initial reaction was weary. Did Alfred forget some other groceries he wanted him to pick up? He nearly opened up the door and walked right in without reading it, but then he saw the scribbly words written in front of him.

**[I love u dad]**

A pause. Ever so gingerly he picked it up with his index finger, reading those words over and over again until the tears blocked his vision and he couldn't see them anymore.

Alfred was sitting on his bed, flipping through Snapchat stories before finally going to sleep. He glanced over at the door when he heard it creak open, his dad standing in the doorway. Without a word, Arthur walked over, sat next to him on the bed, and wrapped his arms tenderly around his son's shoulders.

“You don't have to say anything, Alfred. It's alright.” He sniffled, holding his son and softly setting his head on top of Al's. His younger teen was stubborn, volatile, and rash. Maybe a bit too much like him when he was his age. There wasn't a response, but the boy gently leaned into his dad, putting his head against him. It was quiet aside from Arthur’s choked sniffles, but they sat there for a moment in their embrace, holding on to each other and saying more with their hug than words could possibly convey.

Arthur wasn't sure what on earth Francis must have said to Al tonight, but he would never be able to thank him enough for it.

After a good, long pause the omega gave his son a kiss on top of his head and stood up. They were both tired, and needed to turn it in for the night. Tomorrow was a new day, after all. “Goodnight, poppet. I love you too.” 

Alfred was still silent, but he looked up and gave his dad a smile and a nod. Maybe tomorrow they could talk. But for now, sticky notes were enough, and for that they were thankful.


	5. Chapter 5

**September 29th, 2019. Sunday evening.**

The weekend passed by with barely a blip. Things were slowly returning to normal at the Kirkland household—Alfred had his football game Friday evening, Matthew stayed home, and Arthur spent the entire weekend struggling to detach from work. The only abnormal thing was Francis. Arthur had to admit it was still strange to have the alpha coming around so suddenly, but he couldn't deny that it was nice. 

He did have work over the weekend, like he said, but nevertheless made a point to pop in whenever possible. At one point he came over to watch a movie with Matthew in his room, and Saturday morning found him chatting with Alfred at the kitchen table, sharing social media and teaching his son how to find his right light for the best selfies. At first, Arthur had been worried about how the boys would mesh with their newly found father, but it didn't take him long to see that those fears were moot. He was a good father, and the boys took to him naturally.

And on that note, the relationship between himself and Francis was on surprisingly good terms, too. They'd been texting back and forth, with Francis letting him know when he was planning on being over, and asking him how things were going. It was strange, but nice. He'd even wished him a good night on Saturday before he went to bed. There was just one thing that ate at Arthur's mind when reading the alpha's texts...

… Did he have to be so bloody flirtatious in every single sentence?

Seriously, they weren't that close, what was with the overt familiarity and emojis? Arthur had no idea how to respond to a winky, kissy face emoji. He'd never received one before. And maybe the goodnight text might have been kind if it hadn't been accompanied with a big red heart. He could have accepted Francis was trying to flirt, but then when they met in person, it was like the texts hadn't happened. Things were back to normal, and Arthur wasn't sure which Francis to expect.

It was _ confusing_. 

Almost as confusing as the pitter patter of his heart when he saw those stupid little heart emojis in the texts.

Regardless, he was absolutely _ not _ looking to date right now. And even if he was, it certainly wouldn't be with his boys' father. That ship had sailed, and he was not about to rehash the drama from that point of his life.

Sunday evening was primetime for overthinking in the mind of Arthur Kirkland. When he was supposed to be resting, recharging for the week ahead he found himself wallowing in all his worries and miniscule fears that he hadn't had time to devote to otherwise. Tomorrow was his planned lunch meeting with Francis at Le Corusse Rouge, and of course this weekend and those blasted emojis had made him see that meeting in a whole new light. Where previously he figured it was a standard lunch meeting, now he was concerned that there might be certain _ other _ intentions behind it. After all, who chooses a fine dining restaurant like that for _lunch_?

No, no, he thought. You're overthinking. 

Perhaps you just _ want _ it to be more than a lunch meeting, Arthur.

Laying back in his bed he groaned, raising his hands to rub at his temples. He couldn't possibly meet Francis like this. Not with all these... _ feelings _ and _ emotions _ running haywire in his foggy brain. He had to take another day, maybe two, to get over it in his mind and set himself straight. 

He tried to ignore his instincts to run, he really did. But the cold feet won out and Arthur couldn't stop himself from grabbing his phone and shooting off a text to Francis. What a wimp.

**[Terribly sorry, but I'll have to postpone tomorrow's lunch meeting. I seem to have come down with a cold. May we reschedule for later in the week?]**

He hit send, and then sat there in bed, patiently waiting for a response. When his phone chimed with a response his eyes lit up and he quickly went to open it, then realized what he was doing and stopped. What was that Alfred always said when he saw Matthew dive at his phone like that?

Damn, no chill.

He rubbed his eyes with his palm and took a deep breath, pumping the brakes and opening up the text a bit slower.

**[Not a problem cherie. Let me know when you are feeling better and we can make time. I always have time for my family. ;-* ]**

There it was. Another god damn kissy emoji. Arthur groaned and fell back onto his pillows. Maybe he wasn't really sick, but he was going to need another day to process this.

* * *

**September 30th, 2019. Monday morning.**

The bedside alarm blared. A dull headache pounded at Arthur's temples. That's how he knew Monday had arrived. With a groggy moan he rolled to his side and silenced his alarm, then sat up.

The boys typically left early for school, saving him the stress of having to ensure they got out the door on time. And thankfully, it didn't take Arthur long to freshen up for work. A few splashes of water to wake himself up, some combing and styling to tame his wretched, choppy hair, and a good twenty minutes to tame his brows, which _ always _ seemed to wake up going every which way in the morning. Secretly, he was a little relieved the boys didn't inherit that particular trait of his. Not that he disliked them—in fact, he'd come to make a look out of it if he did say so himself—but neither one would ever get to school on time if they had this to tend to. 

Once his face was satisfactorily groomed, he threw on a grey suit and made his way to the door. Another day, another dollar. Stepping out the front door, he flipped out his phone to check for any messages before he got to his car. Usually someone was informing them they'd be out sick, or in late, and can you please pick up this task, please, Arthur? Like he had a choice to say no. Thankfully, only one assistant had overslept and would be twenty minutes late. Not a problem. He lowered his phone to shove it back in his pocket and then froze, suddenly noticing the person standing at the end of his driveway.

Francis.

_ Shit_.

There he was, in his uniform, holding some sort of Tupperware container in his hand. And the look on his face was _ not _ kind. As he watched Arthur step down the porch steps he put his free hand on his hip. The omega stopped in his tracks. He was busted.

“Well you're looking much better, aren't you?” His voice was sharp and accusatory. Arthur stammered.

“I, um, yes. I am.” God, why did he have to back out like he did? What was wrong with him? He wanted to cringe as the words came out of his mouth, but in true Arthur fashion, jumped to the defensive instead. “W-what, are you stalking me now?”

“No, actually.” Francis was calm, poised. But furious. Like he could sense that Arthur was caught off guard and was patiently deciding if he should tear into him or not. “When you told me you were sick I decided to make you some soup to help you feel better. I wanted to bring it by before my shift today. But, here you are. Very much not sick.”

Ah, fuck. He didn't even have to physically do anything to kick Arthur in the chest. The omega could only stand there as he walked up and roughly shoved the Tupperware container in his hands. Arthur was pushed back slightly in his surprise, but quickly rebounded. “Anyways. Hope you feel better.” Francis turned on his heel and stomped back towards his car. 

Arthur was without words. His hands curled around the Tupperware container, a gesture of kindness that he didn't deserve. “You didn't have to do that.”

“You didn't have to lie to me!” Francis whirled around on his heel, shaking his finger at Arthur. He was _ enraged_. Here he was, trying to reach out, trying to create an amicable relationship between them, and not only was Arthur unwilling but he lied. Again. “I was trying to be nice, to make an effort to get to know you. But you know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't have.”

“I needed a day to process this. All of this.” Arthur begged, pleading for Francis to understand. He couldn't go on a date right now. They needed time. “... Besides, who chooses Le Corusse Rouge for lunch? That's the type of restaurant where proposals happen!”

“Maybe someone who appreciates taste!” Francis shot back. Was Arthur seriously upset that he'd chosen a _ nice restaurant _ for their meeting? The nerve. He rubbed his temples, trying desperately to understand why, _ why _ Arthur was so hesitant, and failed. “Why wouldn't you just tell the truth?”

Arthur froze. Was Francis seriously upset that he'd backed out on a date? He'd dealt with alphas, frustrated that he'd turned them down for dates before, but this? This was making him uneasy. He hadn't even said no, explicitly. Words eluded him as he just stood there and slowly shook his head.

Francis answered for him, his voice insidious and his finger pointed right in the omega's dumbstruck face. “Because you're a liar. Always have been, always will be. I should have known.”

Arthur gasped in indignation. God, what a drama queen! “I am not!” 

Francis was already walking back towards his patrol car. The nonchalance in his shoulders did not hide how angry, how upset he was. All he'd wanted to do was grant the boys a non-dysfunctional family. To get to know Arthur so they could parent them on the same page, like they should. But that wasn't going to be easy, or even possible. Unbelievable. “Sure. Joke's on me for assuming you'd changed.”

“Stop!” Arthur followed him, nearly slamming the Tupperware on the hood to get Francis' attention. “You knew what you were doing. Don't put this all on me.”

Really, Arthur didn't think it too absurd to postpone the meeting another day. Things had been uprooted in the span of barely two, three weeks. They ought to let the dust settle before moving forward with _ anything_. His eyes were soft, pleading that Francis would understand, but the alpha just looked at him with a confused, agitated look scrunched on his face. 

Arthur continued, pulling the words from his mouth like he was pulling out his own teeth. “It would never work. Things were different back then. But now? It's not a good idea.”

Francis could not believe what he was hearing. Not a good idea? For them to _ work together_? No, of course this wasn't the best idea. This entire situation was not ideal! But it wasn't exactly possible to back out now. “Not a good idea?” He asked, his voice raising. “It's too late for that don't you think?”

Arthur was starting to get shaken up. Why wouldn't he just take no and leave? “We're not required to be... like that, Francis.”

The alpha turned around and gripped at his own hair to try and hide his rage. No use. He turned back around, slamming his hands on the hood of the car. “Why on _ earth _ are you so _ resistant_?”

“That doesn't give you a right to me!” Arthur snapped, curling his lip in disgust. Resistant? He was a grown ass adult, he could make whatever decisions he wanted! Just because they had children with each other didn't mean he was entitled to be his mate. 

“To you? I could care less about you!” Francis exclaimed. Arthur stared at him with a wide eye, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. “What I care about is the boys having a solid family structure. And for that we need to be on the same page!”

And they weren't. On multiple fronts.

Arthur was still thinking they were discussing a date. And he was revolted at the suggestion of charading a relationship just to make the boys feel comfortable. “You're mad. We are perfectly capable of doing this separately.”

“For once, I think you're absolutely right.” And Francis was still thinking they were discussing a regular, normal meeting to cover parental dealings. One that Arthur was clearly reluctant to have because he was still reluctant to let Francis be a part of the boys' lives. So much so that he would resort to lying to avoid it. “I think I may be sick if I have to look at your horrible, lying little face again.”

Arthur was shocked. Well, he knew how well Francis handled rejection now! The smart move would have likely been to turn and walk away, but Arthur was Arthur, and he always fought back. “Well I don't want to see you either! Now get off my property and have a bloody shave while you're at it!”

Francis yanked open the driver side door. Probably could have ripped the handle right off if he wanted, he was so furious. “Oh _ bon_, and then I'll hand the razor to you so you can do something about those horrible, bushy caterpillar eyebrows!”

“They are NOT CATERPILLARS!” Arthur shot back in defense. He'd had years of practice defending his, er, full brow. It was a common point of interest for bullies. “Besides, I'd rather have these brows than your... your stupid, ugly...” He paused, searching for anything he could hurl back in defense. “... blue eyes!”

He physically cringed as the words left his mouth. Okay, it was hard to insult Francis' looks. The man was effortlessly beautiful in every way. There wasn't a damn thing about him that could be considered ugly, a fact Arthur was becoming increasingly and _ frustratingly _ aware of. The alpha gave him a confused look, and then let out a smug chortle.

“I'm almost touched that _ that _ is the best you can do, _ mon cher_.” His voice was so taunting. So _ aggravating_. Arthur grit his teeth.

“Shut up!” He snapped. “I'm sick of looking at you! Your horrible, smug smile. Your stupid, holier-than-thou attitude. You have no idea how things were like for me. For us.” When Arthur was angry, he could hit hard. And judging by the sudden disappearance of Francis' horrible, smug smile, he was hitting his mark.

The omega walked around the hood of the car, continuing in his verbal destruction of Francis Bonnefoy. “You were a spoiled brat your entire life. Your parents gave you everything you could possibly ask for. You were so lucky to go through life unblemished, the joyful little apple of everyone's eye, huh? Living right cushy in a nice home where your parents loved you, cared for you? Hm? Well I didn't! I had to grow up so fast after meeting you, to take care of them!” He jerked his hand in the direction of the house. The boys he loved, that he sacrificed his youth for. His voice was choking but he pressed on.

“I never got to be the beloved child, alright? Everything I have to my name I had to build from the ground up, and I am not going to have _ you _ come along and demand that _ I _ must be a part of _ your _ life. I'm not that type of omega, sir, and you will _ not _ be the one to swoop in and save me here because _ I don't need that_. So, yeah, meet with the boys, talk with the boys, but don't for a second presume it will get you anything with me. Understood?”

They stood there in tense silence, staring each other down. Arthur looked like he might burst into tears at any moment. Francis was biting his lip, desperate to say something, to have the last word. 

He looked at Arthur like he wanted to punch him. 

Arthur _ relished _ that look.

And then the Brit, in his typical venomous, catty fashion, broke that silence. “So why don't you get into your car and take your self-righteous, wine-drinking, cheese-eating, smug little rich boy ass OFF OF MY PROPERTY.”

“_Gladly_.” Francis hissed through gritted teeth. He turned to get into his car. “I'll call my lawyer. I happen to know some _ great _ family lawyers in the city.”

Arthur stepped back, stomping his way back onto the curb. “Fine! I'll call mine as well. Suppose we’ll settle this matter in court.”

Francis was fuming as he got into his car and started up the engine. “Fine!”

“FINE.”

“FINE!”

The engine roared and Arthur narrowly managed to grab the Tupperware container off the hood before it began to move. He wanted to hurl it as hard as he could at the vehicle before it took off, but,then again, this was still his property. No one else would have to clean it up but himself. As the cruiser sped away from the curb he steamed, standing there with a Tupperware full of stupid, stupid soup in his dumb baby hands.

God _ dammit_.

Arthur turned and stormed back into his house, fit to explode. At first he stomped over to the bin to dispose of the terrible soup, but realized it would leak if he dumped the container in there like that. So he stomped over to the sink to dump it out, but of course he'd neglected the _ dishes _ so there was no way it would make it to the disposal. Finally he gave up and stomped to the fridge, ripping open the door and jamming the container in so hard he knocked over a bottle of mustard in the process.

And then he stood there. Stood there, fumed, and let out a long, frustrated yell.

Dealing with this frog was going to _ kill him_.

* * *

**September 30th, 2019. Monday morning.**

Matthew and Alfred were different in a lot of ways. Matthew was naturally quiet, Alfred was naturally loud. Matthew liked staying in, Alfred liked going out. If Matthew wanted to go left, Alfred was dead set on going right. It was just the way of things. But there was one thing that could always, always unify them without fail, every single time.

_ Lizzo_.

As they drove to school in the old red Chevy pickup they both shared, Al popped the aux cord into his phone and started blasting Truth Hurts. And the vibes, they were _ good_.

“WHY'RE MEN GREAT TIL THEY GOTTA BE GREAT?” Both boys shouted along to the lyrics, Al bouncing around in his seat excitedly. Matthew was behind the wheel as per usual, and kept his composure mostly settled. Both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. Like he should. 

“DON'T TEXT ME TELL IT STRAIGHT TO MY FACE.” Alfred sang along, his loud voice practically drowning out that of the stereo. He had his phone held up, getting their jam session recorded for all of Snapchat to see. This was the reason why Matt typically drove—as many times as he was told, Alfred just couldn't seem to stay off his damn phone while in the car, so Matthew had begrudgingly accepted that safe driving was going to be his responsibility.

“BEST FRIEND SAT ME DOWN IN THE SALON CHAIR,” The older twin glanced over at the phone, making eye contact, y'know, for the Snapchat story. Alfred whooped and pumped his other hand in the air, the one not currently holding a cell phone.

“SHAMPOO PRESS GETCHA OUTTA MY HAIR!”

They kept singing, trading lines they knew by heart, and finished off the chorus with a joint “BOM BOM BI DOM BI DOM BOM BAY!!”

Alfred cackled loudly as he slumped back in his chair, lowering his phone so he could post the video to his story, no doubt adding a **[monday vibessss]** caption to it.

“Okay, okay, okay.” Matthew was laughing as he reached over to turn the volume knob down. He had a burning question that just wouldn't go away. Now that his brother cornered, he had no choice but to talk about it. “Al, I have to ask. What the hell is going on with you and Ivan?”

Alfred let out a long, dramatic groan. Of course Matt was going to bring it up. Why couldn't he just drop it already? “Ughhh this again? I told you, Mattie, I called it off! It was just, like, a stupid fling. That's it.”

“You were playing beer pong with him like a week ago!”

“Yeah, cause I can still be friends with him, can't I? And the dude is seriously good at pong!”

Matthew let out an exasperated sigh. Good at pong or not, this wasn't healthy. This wasn't good. “Al, I'm just... I'm just worried, alright?”

His brother turned in his seat, leaning on his side. Dad surely would have chastised him for compromising his safety by sitting like so. “Mattie, you're my favorite brother in the whole entire world. And I appreciate how much you care about me. But I can handle myself. Okay?”

The older twin spared him a sideways glance, not wanted to remove his eyes from the road for too long. “You tell me if something is wrong, okay?”

“Yeah, bro, totally.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

It bothered Matthew how nonchalant Alfred was about this, but he had to trust him. They always trusted each other. If something truly was wrong, he'd say something. He promised.

“Aaaaaanyways,” Al started in, wiggling his shoulders the way he did when he was about to get into some hot gossip. “Since we're all up in each other's business now, how's things with Laaaaars?” He reached a finger over to tickle his brother's neck, making him flinch.

“Al stop it I'm driving! Quit!!” Matthew swatted his hand away and Alfred finally sat back down in his seat. The proper, safe way. “Umm, same as usual. I haven't gone over this week though. Swear to god I've never drank so much cranberry juice in my life.”

“Yeah you were really going hard and heavy on that cran ras. But you'll be fine, promise. That's what, like, half the team does every year.” Alfred himself didn't smoke, but he was well versed in these things. He knew his way around the typical recreational activities, if you will. 

“God I hope so. I'm so nervous for hockey this year.”

“Dude, why? You're good!”

“No, not that, it's just... I'm Varsity this year, and there's more games, and more practices, I'm going to be on the ice like every day after school.”

Matthew's eyes were on the road, so he couldn't see the confused look his brother was giving him right now. He was no hockey buff, but seeing his brother on the ice was a fantastic sight. Outside of the rink he might have been a meek, relatively unassuming omega but out there chasing a puck? He was on _fire_. Anyone could see on his face that it was where he belonged, and that he was more at home out there on the ice than anywhere else. So why would--

“Ohhhh.” Alfred suddenly understood. Matt, thankfully, didn't need to explain. “You're wondering when you can go see him.”

The older twin didn't respond, but he didn't deny it either. Honestly, it was starting to drive him nuts how bad he had it for Lars. He was playing Varsity, with a beloved team he'd fought and grown with for the past three years. And the first thing he thought of when he saw the schedule was _ Lars_. If things were this bad at the start of the season, he only hoped he could hold things together when they actually started playing.

Al could read every emotion on his face and pitied his painfully shy brother. He really wished he'd have more confidence. He certainly deserved it. Matthew was genuine, kind hearted, and always thinking of other people before himself. And, not a lot of people knew it, but he had a killer sense of humor. Few people in Al's life had ever made him laugh so hard that soda came out of his nose, and they'd grown up sharing inside jokes with each other that reduced the both of them to cry-laughing. If only everyone could see the Matthew that Alfred saw.

But Alfred had an answer. “You need to make a move.”

“What?” It bothered Matthew how his brother said _ you need _ instead of _ you should_. Always so bossy, so pushy like that.

“Come onnnn Mattie. You've been waiting for him for what, like, three years now? Just do it!” There was only one solution in Alfred's eyes: get that alpha. There was no way Matt was going to play his best this season with that punk ass Dutch dude on the brain. If they could just figure this shit out, it would take so much off his mind, which meant less worry holding him back in the rink. That, and he did kind of want to see his beloved brother get _ some _ action. “What do you have to lose?”

“Uh, our friendship, for one?” The thought of coming onto Lars was mortifying. What if he turned him down? Matthew would never be able to show his face in school again. “I doubt he's ever even thought about me like that, anyways.”

“But what if he has, though!! He ain't blind, and like, lowkey highkey dude? You're cute as hell!” Matthew rolled his eyes so hard they could have rolled right out of his head. Alfred laughed, but continued.

“No Mattie I'm serious! Look, okay, math time. I'm a catch. And you're my twin. So by the transitive property of equality, you are also a catch.” See. Algebra wasn't _totally_ useless. He smirked at his older brother, who snorted.

“You're such a fucking nerd, Alfie.” They were pulling into the school now, and Alfred undid his seatbelt ahead of time. Another safety concern Dad would have a fit over if he saw. 

“Yeah, a damn cute one at that.” He stuck out his tongue and as soon as they parked, Matthew took the opportunity to smack his shoulder. The younger twin cackled, gathering up his backpack before swinging the door open.

Matthew wasn't sure what sort of cruel god made the two of them be brothers. They were _ so _ different. Alfred was charismatic, popular, outgoing, and loved by all. And he was _ confident _. He would, could (and probably already did) flirt with an entire basketball team without a hint of self doubt. It was something Matthew admired, and he wished for just a second he could have half of that reckless self confidence.

“Matt, seriously. Try it.” The older twin paused as he was opening the door. His brother was leaning forward, knees on the seat. Sitting normally was just not possible for Alfred, apparently. “Throw a little casual touch here. A little prolonged eye contact there. Feel the waters out, y'know?”

Matt was unconvinced. Alfred sighed. “I know you worry about me but, like, I do the same for you. And I think you should have a little more confidence. You're way cooler than you think you are, bro.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Matthew didn't think the same way, and it broke Alfred's heart.

“Just saying, you'll never know if you never try, Mattie.” And with that he reached over to give his brother a bear hug. A massive, awkward bear hug over the center console that nearly pulled Matthew down on the passenger side, but one filled with love nonetheless. Al gave a squeeze, ignoring his brother's protests, and then let him go, hopping out of the truck and bouncing towards the gym. Matt straightened his hair back into place and watched his brother hop off happily, already waving at some friends he noticed across the parking lot. Ever the popular one. 

He wasn't sure how he got a brother like Alfred. But, god, was he lucky to have him.

* * *

Another Monday. Matthew walked through the hallways at school, barely registering a glance from anybody. Sometimes, it felt like he was invisible. Where Alfred walked on the grounds and was immediately pulled away by some friends who recognized him, Matthew wondered if anyone would ever even notice if he didn't show up. Not in an angsty way, but, like, could he just chill at home and still get credit?

By some odd twist of fate, he'd even managed to get one of the smoothest, most silent lockers on campus. It barely made a sound as he swung it open, gathering books and whatever else. A hand reached up and rested next to the locker, not startling him but gently gaining his attention. He turned and looked up, then beamed when he saw Lars standing there.

“Oh hey!” Matthew quickly grabbed his things and shut the locker door. “How's it going?”

“Ugh, they kept me late last night at work. Tired.” He put his hands in his pockets as they began to walk. Their homeroom classes were right next to each other, so typically they walked together.

“Aren't they not supposed to do that? Since you're in high school?”

“Well, yeah technically. But you know me.”

Matthew sure did. Lars never said no to making more money. High schoolers weren't supposed to work past 10pm, but if they were willing to pay him more, shit, he'd stay all night if he could. Forever chasing that paper. “Yeah, well, you're the one paying for it.”

“Nah, I think they are.”

“I mean, like, with sleep.”

Lars shrugged and Matt chuckled. With hockey coming up and Matthew spending less time at his house, he'd been picking up more and more hours at work. Might as well make that cash while he had free time, right?

“Hey, I wanted to tell you something.”

Lars stepped in front of Matt slightly, stopping them both. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to think about how hard his heart pounded just then. Be cool, don't think about how so many of your favorite daydreams start out just like this.

“So my siblings are throwing a Halloween party. You're definitely invited, I just wanted to tell you first before you found out from someone else.”

… Oh. Or that. Admittedly, his imagination was running a little wild after that conversation he'd had with Al this morning. A part of him almost hoped that Lars was about to ask him out.

“Cool! That sounds fun.” Matthew nodded. He wasn't much of a partier and neither was Lars, so he wasn't sure how he felt about a Halloween party, but hey. Felt kind of nice to be personally invited like that. “Wait, at your house?”

“No. God, no.” Lars chuckled. He was a noted neat freak, and would damn near flip if something in his house was upturned. “It's at Claude's. I think I'd have an aneurysm if everyone came to my house.”

That made sense. Lars and his sister Emma lived together with their alpha father, while Claude, their half-brother, stayed with their omega mother. Their home was nice, but modest, but Claude lived in a massive house in the “rich” part of the county. With six bedrooms, sprawling acreage backed up to some woods, and a busy mother that darted out of the country periodically? It was the perfect place to throw a party.

“I was gonna say.” Matt laughed. He knew Lars all too well, no way he'd agree to having a bunch of rowdy, drunk high schoolers in his space. Not in a million years. “But, uh, yeah, thanks for inviting me. I'll tell Al.”

Lars shrugged. “If you want to.” The two of them weren't enemies, but they weren't exactly friends either. Maybe if Al hadn't stepped in Lars' flowerbed two years ago when going to his house, things would be different. But it took Lars months to regrow that particular patch and Alfred never actually _did_ apologize, so that grudge held strong.

What could he say? The alpha liked his tulips.

“I'm sure he'll find out.” Matthew gave him a look, but the discussion was settled when they turned the corner and saw Alfred talking to a very excited Emma. No doubt she was telling him about it and he was promising to spread the word. The one time his big, loud mouth would come in handy.

“Looks like we'll be seeing both Kirklands.” The alpha chuckled as he glanced down at Matt.

“Aww, lucky you.”

Lars smirked at him and it made Matt's heart jump a little. Okay, a lot. And in that moment he thought that maybe Alfred was right. He would never know if he didn't at least try, right? 

Matthew extended a hand, resting it on Lars' forearm, and looked him in the eyes. A little casual touch here. A little prolonged eye contact there. It made his heart _ soar_. November was cold, and the breeze was chilling, but standing here with Lars, even just barely touching him made Matt feel all sorts of warm inside. He could stare into those beautiful, stern eyes forever.

… Lars looked down at him, then glanced sideways, confused. He leaned down, his voice quiet. “You, uh... you alright, Matt?”

“Huh?” Matthew was in a daze, and Lars' voice snapped him out of it.

“I asked if you were alright?”

“Oh.” He was rapidly jerked to reality, and a deep flush crept up on his cheeks. When he realized he was still holding onto Lars' arm he quickly let go. “Oh, uh, yeah! Sorry!”

“Okay, weirdo.” Lars laughed. Nothing was too weird between them, he wasn't about to overthink whatever the hell that was. “But really though, how are you doing? Like, at home?” 

Matthew tilted his head. Lars explained. “I mean, with your father being around?”

“O-oh, well.” It wasn't hard to answer that. Papa was wonderful, and he was thrilled to get to spend time with him every day. Things had been better at home than they'd been in months, despite the awkward tension between Arthur and Alfred. “Great! He's awesome, and I can't wait for you to meet him. At some point.”

Lars smiled, exhaling a little bit. The stern, stoic alpha rarely showed emotion, but he was worried for his friend when he'd heard his father had suddenly entered his life. What a relief to hear it was smooth sailing. “Good. I'm glad to hear that. I just wanted to check, y'know?”

“Well, thanks.” Matt's cheeks were red, and he was hoping Lars thought it was just due to the cold. “Thanks for, uh, thinking about me.”

“Yeah. You just... you seem happier. Like you're glowing.”

“Oh.”

The alpha chuckled awkwardly. Perhaps he rarely showed emotion because he was such shit at expressing himself. “Sorry, that's probably weird. But you seem different, like you're smiling more. I'm glad things are good.”

“Yeah.” Matthew was smiling. His beautiful, shining smile. Lars would never say it, terrified to ruin a fantastic friendship, but he really, really like seeing that smile. “Thanks, Lars.”

“Of course.”

The bell rang, and both of them walked to their separate classes.

* * *

Football practice was short for a Monday. Matthew had certain hockey things to attend to after school, so Al had sent him a text telling him not to worry about picking him up. He'd secured a ride home successfully. And it was one that he didn't want his brother knowing anything about.

Sitting in the passenger seat of Ivan's tiny old Civic, he leaned his hand out of the window gently to knock ashes off the end of his cigarette. They were parked in the lot of an old, now-defunct department store, with the windows boarded up and the pavement cracked from years of neglect. There was a little shack on the other end of the lot that served an array of greasy, sloppy burgers and fries, but that wasn't what they came here for. Usually.

Ivan had the windows rolled down, his hand relaxed on the edge with a cigarette between his fingers. He was the reason Alfred had started smoking in the first place. It had started as a dare: Ivan teasing him, '_You wouldn't do it, would you? _' and Alfred grabbing it out of his hand and taking a deep, long inhale on the end. Yeah he coughed so hard he almost threw up and his head felt like it was filled with helium afterward, but hey. He showed him.

And now they sat here, smoking in a tiny little sedan hidden under the shade of a tree. As inconspicuous as teenagers could be. “You tell your brother one thing, and then come here with me regardless. What is it you want, Alfred?” Ivan's voice was cool, calm as usual, getting straight to the point. 

Alfred shifted in his seat. They could have just gone at it like usual, but of course he'd had to bring up the uncomfortable topic of his brother on the way here. Try as he might, he just couldn't shut his big mouth sometimes. “I didn't... tell him everything. I'm not _ going _ to tell him everything.”

“It doesn't make me feel good to be sneaking around with you this way.” Ivan's voice was sad, almost pitiful. Alfred rolled his eyes.

“Oh stop. If you didn't like it then why were you waiting outside the school for me?”

The Russian didn't respond, raising his own cigarette to his lips and inhaling. Things had gotten so complicated since the beginning of the school year. Summer was easy, summer was simple flings and meeting up where no one else would see them. Fall was an entirely different dynamic. Now they were at school, they were visible, and it became all that much harder to pretend like they still disliked each other.

That, and he was slowly beginning to develop an attachment to the ornery American boy. It made him jealous to see the omega laughing, flirting with others like he didn't even exist. But of course, he couldn't do anything. Not if he wanted to keep what they had under wraps.

He kept waiting for him because he just couldn't let this go.

“Maybe we should stop.” Alfred blurted out, shoving the end of his cigarette into his mouth as Ivan turned to look at him. Be it chips, cigarettes, or his fingernails, Alfred always had _ something _ in his mouth. When he wasn't using it to blabber, that is.

“Fredka, you always say that, and then come right back. What is it, really?”

Ooh, that nickname got Al every time. He loved that shit. But still... “Don't you get tired of having to hide like this?”

“Yes. I would like nothing more than to hold you for all of the world to see.”

Admittedly, Al would love that too. Ivan was big, strong, taller than him, and built like a tanker engine. And he treated him like he'd always hoped an alpha would. He was everything he wanted. But he had a reputation, and being with Ivan would torpedo it instantly.

“My family hates you. I'd be dead if they knew I was here.”

Ivan smirked. “I believe I would be the dead one if they knew why you were here.”

Al grinned at that. Touche. It's not like they came to these hidden places to just chat. “Well, you should be with someone else. Someone you don't have to hide. Someone you truly want.

“I want_ you_.”

They locked eyes, and Alfred could barely keep a straight face. God, he loved this. He couldn't cut things off with Ivan, not in a million years.

“Alright. Fuck it.” He jumped up, climbing over the center console to try and straddle the alpha's lap. Ivan had to reach down quickly to adjust his seat back, putting some room between himself and the steering wheel. “Scooch.”

The blue-eyed omega settled on his lap, bumping his knee against the steering wheel and the arm rest of the door. “Ouch!” He yelped, rubbing his thigh where the handle on the door dug in. It was going to bruise for sure. “You need a bigger car, Ivan!”

Ivan was pushed all the way back he could go, but a Civic wasn't the most spacious car to be having driver-seat makeouts in, and he was a pretty large alpha as it was. He wasn't sure what Alfred expected. “I can't afford to just get another car, Alfred.”

Al grumbled, but leaned forward. Thank goodness there was enough room to put his arms on the neck rest. “Well, not like we haven't made do before.” Ivan's left hand was still hanging out the window, cigarette not quite finished yet. The cheeky omega sat up and took it from his fingers, put it to his lip and took a long, deep inhale. The smoke filled his lungs, giving him an easy, lightheaded sensation. He looked down at Ivan as a grin spread across his mouth. He bit his bottom lip ever so slightly and let the smoke out slowly, seductively.

It drove Ivan absolutely _ mad_.

A big, heavy hand reached up and pulled Al's head down, crashing his perfect, plush lips into Ivan's.

They moved together perfectly, with a lusty heat made all that much better by the thrill of being so secretive about it. Ivan's big hands settled on Alfred's hips, his fingers and thumbs gripping the skin underneath his shirt. Al's lips curled into a smirk as he felt the fingers move over his skin, slipping under the fabric. At least, it felt good for a second, before...

He sat up, reaching down to put his hand over Ivan's fingers where they dug into his hips. “Ivan, I'm not goin' anywhere. Relax your grip, man.”

“Sorry.” Ivan apologized, letting his hands go slack. He didn't mean to. Everything just got so heated when he had his most perfect omega in his lap like this.

Alfred laughed and pressed more kisses to Ivan's lips. Breathy moans began to escape out of their mouths as they picked up the pace, Ivan's hands running up and down Alfred's backside, Alfred's hands gripping his shoulders and reaching up to tangle in his hair. The omega was starting to move his body, rutting up against Ivan as much as he could in the squished quarters, when suddenly--

A loud HONK shattered their vibe. Alfred screamed and put his hands over his head, leaning down and burying his face in Ivan's shoulder. 

Ivan quickly grabbed Al's butt, lifting it up off the steering wheel where he'd accidentally sat on the horn.

They paused, Alfred panting as he tried to regain his breath. He looked down at the alpha underneath him and chuckled nervously, a hot flush covering his cheeks. Embarrassing.

Ivan swore he could feel Al's heart pounding in his chest, and he gently raised a hand to brush away a stray hair that had fallen across his brow. A tender, gentle gesture that made Al smile. Well, for a second before that devilish little look in his eyes came flashing back. He reached up to grab Ivan's hand.

“Want to take this to the back seat?”

“_Da_.” The alpha smirked, reaching down to roll up the window. They'd need a little more _ privacy_, if you will.

Al squealed and leaned forward to crawl into the back, but his knee slipped off the center console and he fell, his thigh landing smack onto the gear shift. “OWWW.” He whined, trying once more to get in the back. His palm slipped off the back of the console and he fell forward, face straight down to the floorboard with a loud whine.

His feet were in the air, Ivan having to duck to the side to avoid being kicked. “Get back there, Al!” He raised his elbow to give the omega a push, sending him flipping over into the back seat, fully lying on the floorboard.

“Hey!!” Alfred complained as he sat up, rubbing his side where he'd hit the drink holder on the way down. Surely he was going to go home with some bruises from tumbling all around this tiny ass car. “Careful! I bruise like a fuckin' banana, you know that!”

“I know, I'll be careful.” Ivan sighed as he reached over to dig around in the glove compartment for a condom. _ I do need a bigger car_, he thought to himself as he climbed into the back himself, into the arms of his whiny, loud, obnoxious, _ beautiful _ omega.

* * *

Arthur sat at the dining table later that night, one hand holding the paper they'd printed today and the other holding a spoon. A spoon full of reheated soup that a certain alpha had dropped off earlier in the morning. He wanted to toss it out of spite, but, well. He'd had a long day, and it was right there, fresh and bright and tempting. So he reheated it for dinner. The frog would never know.

Matthew sat at the other side, poring over his hockey schedule. The season was going to start this weekend and he had to make sure all his ducks were in line. Mostly, he wanted to make sure he could still make time to hang out with Lars inbetween practices. He was playing Varsity this year, so there would be more responsibility and commitments, but he could still have a social life, right?

A text lit up Matthew's phone and he picked it up to see his father's contact name. “Oh.” He set it back down. “Papa's not coming over tonight.”

“I figured.” Arthur muttered, and his son looked up at him, brow furrowed. “Horrible pig.”

Matthew stared at him, wide-eyed in shock. He swallowed the bit of soup quickly. “Sorry, Matthew. We... kind of got into it today.”

“Dad what are you talking about? Why's he a pig?” This was... new. Papa was nothing but kind and considerate to him and to Alfred, and he hadn't seen him be anything but amicable towards his dad. What on earth happened?

Arthur debated telling his son the details. Regardless of what happened between them, Francis was still his father, and he didn't want to risk poisoning their relationship together.

But, on the other hand, he was a petty bitch and never knew when to quit.

“He seems to think,” Arthur paused, setting the spoon down. “that he's entitled to a date with me. I turned him down, and he didn't take it too kindly. So I told him off right proper.”

Matthew's brow was furrowed. This was... not the Papa he knew. He'd spoken to him about his dating life, about how he felt about Lars, and all that. And Papa was insistent on making sure Matthew understood the concept of mutual feelings, consent and all that. Maybe a little overly cautious, but it came from a good place. And it certainly didn't corroborate what his dad was telling him now.

“I'm confused.” Matt mumbled. “He really asked you on a date?”

“Yes. Well, he didn't say date, but believe me by the way he was texting me? I got the message loud and clear.” Arthur had sat up straight, picking up the Tupperware to angrily jab the spoon back in.

“Huh?”

Arthur looked up at Matthew, who was still puzzled. He waved his hand, spoon inbetween his fingers, trying to explain. “Hearts, kissy emojis, winky faces... You know. All over the place. How else should I read that?”

_ Kissy emojis_?

Matthew suddenly understood. He let out a loud groan and dropped his head onto the table with a thump. Arthur jumped and slammed the bowl down to get up and make sure the boy was okay, but before he could get to his feet his son was back up, grabbing his cell phone. He poked the screen a few times and then held it forward, shoving the screen in his dad's face.

“You mean like this?”

Arthur took the device and scrolled. They were the messages between Francis and Matthew, littered with the same flowery tildes, kiss emojis, and an abundance of colorful hearts. He furrowed his big, bushy brows and looked up at his son, who was staring back at him in disbelief. “What?”

“That's just how he texts, Dad! He sends those to me, too, and to Alfred!”

Arthur was realizing he may have been in the wrong, and the disgusting feeling of embarrassment boiled in his gut. “But he chose Le Corusse Rouge for lunch. Who chooses that for a casual lunch!”

“His omega mother was an esteemed chef! He's probably used to fancy foods like that!”

Matthew sighed in exasperation, leaning forward to take back his cell phone. Arthur leaned back in his seat, fully accepting the familiar feeling of regret. “... I didn't know that.”

“Well, maybe because you haven't even tried to get to know him!” Matthew snapped, and his dad flinched. It wasn't often that the quieter twin let it out like that, but when he did? It hurt in a particularly painful kind of way. 

Arthur stared at the wall. Oh boy. “I've made a mistake.”

“Yeah. No kidding.”

They sat there in silence, Matthew staring down his hockey schedule like it was his worst enemy, and Arthur letting the entire spectrum of regret beat him up. Oh, this was going to be a wreck to clean up. He was going to have to swallow his pride and admit the one thing he _ never _ liked to admit: that he'd made a mistake. Once already he'd had to apologize to Francis and pray for forgiveness, he thought he might literally shrivel up and die if he had to do it again.

“You made soup?” Arthur looked up. Matthew moved his head in the direction of the Tupperware container. It looked good, highly unlike something his dear dad was capable of putting together.

“No,” He sighed, the metallic aftertaste of guilt in his throat. This just got worse and worse. “Your father made it. I canceled the meeting and told him it was because I was sick, so he... brought me soup..."

“Dad...” The disappointment in Matthew's little voice was so loud. And his dad felt it.

He felt like a real heel.

But sitting here stewing in his shame was going to do no good. Staring at the bowl of soup in front of him, it hit Arthur what he was going to have to do to remedy this massive screw up. “I've got it.” He stood up, going to fetch his apron from the pantry. “I'll make this right, Matthew. I promise.”

“I sure hope so.” His son shook his head, still in disbelief over what had happened. As his dad abandoned the little bowl of soup he peered over, examining it. It smelled great, and looked delicious. “How's the soup?”

“Oh it's bloody amazing, Matthew. But don't ever tell him I said that.” Matthew smirked as he slyly reached over to take the leftover for himself. The older omega was busy setting himself to work in the kitchen, no doubt preparing to bake something for Francis in return for the soup. Apology food. It had worked countless times with Alfred and Matthew over the years, it had to work with Francis now, right?

He was going to have to try, at least.

* * *

**October 1st, 2019. Tuesday morning.**

Antonio didn't dare pester Francis today. Much like yesterday, he was in a fowl mood, and wouldn't appreciate his best friend's antics like usual. Since his argument with his childrens' omega dad, he'd been quiet, completely lackluster compared to his usual pomp and flare. It was odd and uncomfortable, a blemish on the usual lighthearted air between them.

And so, Antonio slid back in his seat, turning his attention back to the reports in front of him. Boring.

They were focused in their work until Gilbert walked in, tapping a folder on the desk to grab their attention. He pointed over to the entry of the station. “Hey. You got a visitor, Fran.”

Francis looked up to see Arthur was standing there in his suit, a bag of baked goodies in his hand and a station full of officers' eyes on him.

He was uneasy. Visibly, physically uneasy. He made no eye contact with anyone else around him, staring directly at Francis in the back of the room. Anyone else might look at him and think he looked angry, what with those furrowed, bushy eyebrows of his, but Francis was an expert in emotion, and he knew a thing or two about that ornery Brit.

He was _ embarrassed_.

Francis _ relished _ that look.

Slowly, he got to his feet and began to walk over, hands in his pockets and pace relaxed. No doubt Arthur wanted to take him outside to have this discussion, but Francis stopped in front of him, crossing his arms. He watched his face, waiting for an explanation. The nervous omega realized they weren't going anywhere, and started in with his apology. “Francis, I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have lied like that.”

Arthur's voice was shaky, and he seemed to be having trouble pulling out his carefully rehearsed words. It wasn't normal for him, being so vulnerable like this, but he had a situation to make right. And it did make Francis a _ little _ happy to see Arthur struggle. Penance. 

“It was a misunderstanding. I got some signals crossed, and I wasn't prepared to confront them. But I should have. And... if you're willing to give me another chance, I'd like to take you to Le Corusse Rouge to discuss it.”

He finished his bit, and stood there anxiously trying not to bite a hole in his lip as he waited for Francis' response. Somewhere, an officer cooed, “Oooooh, a date!”

Francis let Arthur stew in the embarrassment a moment longer before stepping forward, putting a hand on his shoulder to direct him to the door. “Come on, let's go outside.”

He directed the two of them out through an exit, into the parking lot. Once out of the view of a hundred prying eyes, Arthur's shoulders fell in relief. God, social interaction was a nightmare. “I'm sorry, Franc--”

“Why did you lie?” Francis cut him off. He could care less about apologies. He wanted explanation.

Arthur bit his lip. There was no way about this that wouldn't make him sound like a fool. “I, um... I made some assumptions, and there was a misunderstanding, and I'm sor--”

“What assumptions?”

He chewed on his lip. “That you were viewing this as a date.”

“... A _ date_?” Francis was surprised.

“I know! It's ridiculous, in hindsight, but I misunderstood, and I panicked!”

“_Mon dieu_...” Francis rubbed his temples. Talk about a misunderstanding. He thought back to the things he said, and framing them now, with what Arthur was assuming? Oh heavens. He chuckled slightly. “And you... you thought everything I said was because I wanted to date you?”

“_Yes_. That was why I got so angry!"

Francis couldn't help but laugh. “_Cherie_, you really think I'd say things like that to you? To anyone, for that matter?”

“Well, I--” Arthur understood now how insane it sounded, but hey. Hindsight is always 20/20. “I was wrong. And I shouldn't have lied. I should have discussed it with you, openly.”

“Yeah.” Francis nodded. “You should have. I... I assumed you were pushing me away for no reason.”

“Oh no, no.” The omega shook his head. “I've... come to terms with everything. You're going to be a part of the boys' lives, of all our lives, for that matter. And we need to work together.”

The small, gentle smile on Francis' face made him feel better, and all that guilt and shame was slowly fading away. God, why didn't he just confront him directly the first time? He felt like a fool. Like a child who still hadn't learned to use his words and resorted to crying and lashing out to make himself known. But he was making an effort, and he promised himself he would do better. He would be better, for his own sake and his family's sake. “So... one more chance at this? Please?”

Francis looked at him with a sly smirk, narrowing his eyes. He raised one finger. “Yes. Under one condition.”

Arthur turned his head, suspicious.

Francis stuck his finger right in the other man's face. “New initiative. We're going to call it: Arthur Stops Lying About Things.”

He went cross-eyed at the index finger jammed in front of his nose, then grinned and reached up to smack it away. Francis was joking, obviously, but there was a hefty couple ounces of truth in that. Lying came as easily as breathing, and he was going to have to be a bit more conscious of his behavior to make this right.

“Okay. Fine. Honesty and communication from here on out.”

“_Bon_.” Francis smiled. Arthur was relieved. He finally let out that breath that seemed to be stuck in his chest and let his head fall. Relief.

“... Speaking of honesty and communication,” Francis spoke up, and Arthur turned his face back up to look at him. He was still smirking, holding that judgy finger up like he'd just had a brilliant thought. “You never did say no.”

“I'm sorry?”

“You thought it was a date. And you didn't say no.”

Arthur stammered, at a loss for words. “I-I was perfectly clear--”

Francis raised his brow and pointed at him. “You said you needed to _ process things _ . And we were going to _ reschedule,_ no_?_.”

Arthur was caught. A bright red flush crept up on his cheeks as his mouth hung open, no words coming out. Francis couldn't help but grin. Oh, he loved seeing him get so flustered like this.

Finally, the omega gathered his emotions and came back to his senses. “Well, Officer, I assure you I _ have _ processed things and there are _ no _ romantic feelings there. Understood?”

The blush on his face and the aversion of his eyes said something else entirely. Francis was all too familiar with this game.

“Okay. Fair. Let me know if things change.” He gave a wink, and Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh, and one more thing? You have to explain to me what those things are.” He pointed to the bag of goodies.

“I, wh-- They're scones! Of course they're scones, look at them!” He held it up, but all Francis could see was lumpy, misshapen blobs of burnt dough. “I made them for you as an apology. Since you made me the soup.”

“Did you like it?”

“It was tolerable.”

Francis chuckled and took the bag of scones. Ever the pessimist, Arthur. “Well, thank you for the scones. I look forward to trying them.”

Arthur smiled a little bit. He was always proud of his scones. “And I'll see you tomorrow, 11:30, Le Corusse Rouge. I promise, this time.”

“Right. And it's not a date.”

“No.”

“Unless you want it to be.”

“_No_.”

“Suit yourself.”

Arthur huffed and turned on his heel, walking off quickly to his car so he could stop staring at Francis' annoying smug face. And so that, as he got to his vehicle and pulled out his keys, no one could see the tiny little smirk he allowed himself. Maybe dealing with the frog wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

Francis arrived back to his desk, the familiar bounce back in his step and that smile back on his face. He dropped the bag of scones on the desk and took a seat. Antonio noticed the flare back in his step and the smile on his face. _ Finally_. He had his best friend back.

“What are those?” The other alpha asked, nodding at the bag set in front of them.

“Scones. Arthur made them, to apologize.” The text he'd received this morning suddenly made sense. A one-line message from Matthew with no explanation:** _ [You dont have to eat the scones Papa]_ **

Antonio crinkled his nose. He wasn't a baker, but they were really playing fast and loose with the definition of _ scones _ to call them that. “Oh. Well, I'm glad you two set things straight.”

“Oh, me too.” Despite his son's warning, Francis opened up the bag, taking a scone out to examine. He might as well try one. How bad could they be, right?

He sniffed it, and then took a small bite. Antonio watched his face curiously. He chewed, pensively, trying to determine if he liked it or not. It was... chewy. With a smoky flavor. Was that a blueberry? What the fuck kind of blueberry tastes like that? It didn't take long for him to abandon his taste test of faith, reaching for the wastebasket under his desk to spit out the rest.

Nope, nope. Matthew was right. The scones were trash. At least he'd tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be going on vacation, so the're going to be a bit of a break until the next chapter. Happy Holidays!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wait! took me a little while to get over writer's block after coming back from vacation. but i'm back in the swing of things and ready to update regularly again!
> 
> also, i made a twitter handle: @seawaturr  
feel free to say hi!

**October 2019. Wednesday Afternoon.**

The meeting between Francis and Arthur was surprisingly smooth. The Le Corusse Rouge atmosphere was perfect, the company was pleasant, and if Arthur was being honest with himself, he had a nice time. Francis wasn’t half bad.

They discussed the situation: custody, meeting of Francis’ family and friends, schedules, everything. For the most part, they were on the same page. The boys were old enough to make their own decisions regarding where they would go and when, so custody was a non-issue. Arthur agreed to let Francis’ friends around them—just maybe after a month or so as to not overwhelm them. Family was going to be another issue, and Francis was the one to suggest they wait on those introductions. Arthur could not agree more.

The Brit was also able to take this opportunity to give Francis a rundown of the Do’s and Dont’s of Alfred and Matthew Kirkland. And there was quite a lot.

Matthew is quiet, but never interrupt him. Let him speak or he’ll shut down.

Food is the way to Alfred's heart, but he's rather sensitive about his weight. Never ever, ever comment on his appetite.

Always make sure to pet Kuma when you come in the front door. Matthew makes mental notes of who doesn’t pet the dog and he _will_ remember if you don’t.

Alfred is simultaneously self conscious of how tall and muscular he is for an omega, and proud of the fact that he’s able to flex his strength. No, it doesn’t make sense. Just don’t mention it.

He told him everything he could think of. Their past, their medical history, their interests, their friends. Whatever he could think of that might come in handy for the alpha interacting with his two newly found omega sons.

Francis was grateful, and he took notes. This was going to work out, mark his words, and though he hadn’t been around then, he wanted to be around now. He was going to do this right. “Well,” he tapped his pen to the paper, fresh with scribbles about what sort of snacks they preferred and whatever else, “It is nice to know at least one takes after me somewhat, hm?”

Arthur was in the middle of taking a sip from his cup. Tea, hot and strong, his favorite. The boys were so much their own people, he didn’t understand what he was referring to. “What do you mean?”

Francis shrugged. “Alfred is so… bold. So independent, a strong personality. He sounds a lot like you.”

Arthur went a little red at the compliment, but looked off to the side. Similar? He wasn’t so sure about that. He and Alfred clashed like no other, and they couldn’t agree on anything. But, well, if he was being truthful there _were_ worse things about himself the boy could have inherited.

“But Matthew is so gentle!” Francis beamed. “He is delicate and caring, and I’m relieved to have one son that is so sweet.”

Sure enough, Matthew and Francis had hit it off wonderfully on their first meeting. They took to each other like ducks to water, and there was no doubt that the two of them were related. Matthew had inherited Francis’ wavy, beautiful hair, and those eyes that could look into your soul and soothe you at the same time. Much like Alfred he was built, and nearly taller than either one of his parents, but it wouldn’t take a genius to pin them as father and son. 

Arthur smirked at Francis’ mistaken diagnosis. Yes, Matthew was a kind soul, but he was far from _delicate_. The twins may have been polar opposites on the personality spectrum, but they were both tough as nails. He had made sure of it. A small, slightly less petty part of him thought that maybe he should correct Francis on that, but he decided against it. The alpha would learn on his own in time.

“Yes.” Arthur agreed, setting his cup down. “He is sweet. But don’t underestimate him, I’m warning you.”

Francis waved his hand in dismissal. “Of course not. I’m just thankful. You’ve done a wonderful job of raising such a great boy. Two of them, in fact.”

Arthur may have puffed up a little at that. “Oh. Well. Thank you.”

The alpha tilted his glass towards the omega in a toasting motion before raising it to his lips. Wine, in the middle of the day. How pretentious.

Suddenly, mid sip, Francis made a motion like he’d just remembered something. And Arthur was thankful for the interruption, because he _may_ have been looking a little too fondly at the French alpha delicately sipping his wine. Right criminal how good he could look doing so. 

“The games,” Francis clarified. “The boys both have games coming up, don’t they?”

“Oh, uh, yes.” Arthur nodded, furrowing his brow at the sudden change of topic. “Football must have started a few weeks back and hockey is coming up soon. Why?”

“I promised Matthew I would go. And Alfred as well, but Matthew mentioned one coming up this weekend and I’d love to see him play. You should come with me.”

If Francis was expecting Arthur to jump at the chance to go, he was sorely disappointed. For a number of reasons he was… hesitant to go to one of Matthew’s games, and he tried not to let the inevitable grimace show on his face. If Francis wanted to go then by all means, let him go. But the omega parent balked. “Are you sure?” He asked. “Have you ever been to a game of hockey before?”

“No. I have not.” Francis shook his head with an airheaded smile. He really was looking forward to seeing his eldest son play. 

“I’m not so sure—“ Arthur began to formulate an excuse, but the ringing of Francis’ work cell interrupted him. The alpha politely raised a hand to excuse himself as he answered. Mealtimes were sacred to the Frenchman, brief moments to relax and savor with leisure, and he did not appreciate his work encroaching on that time. The agitation was clear in his voice, but gradually seceded. Work had won over.

“Pardon.” He said with a heavy sigh as he hit the end call button. At least it was Gilbert on the other end and not one of his superiors. “I must get back. But I insist, let’s go together. It’ll mean a lot to Matthew.”

Arthur tried to think of an excuse. Really, he did. But Francis’ hopeful, cheerful face obliterated any way out he could think of. Swallowing his words, he nodded with a forced smile. “Yes. Okay.”

* * *

**October 2019. Saturday Afternoon.**

  
  


And that conversation was what led them here, on a cool Saturday afternoon, at the local hockey rink that the school held games at. Matthew had arrived hours earlier to warm up with the team, while Arthur drove himself and Francis to the rink. His knuckles held white onto the steering wheel the entire drive, but Francis couldn’t be bothered to notice. He was excited, enthralled with the idea of watching his son play a game of ice hockey.

The French alpha truly had no idea what to expect, but the image in his mind was fantastic. He was envisioning something akin to ice skating--after all, it was played on ice, so it had to be graceful, no? The thought of watching them all slide around the ice, smoothly flinging a puck back and forth sounded beautiful. Kinetic artwork. He _knew_ Matthew must have inherited such poise and grace from himself.

As they got closer, and Francis babbled on about how wonderful he imagined the game would be, Arthur started to realize that maybe the alpha wasn’t quite prepared for what he was about to witness. Aside from the fact that he was wearing a light cardigan, unprepared for the chill of the rink, the man was wholly unprepared for the carnage that was hockey. High school hockey, but hockey nonetheless. Briefly, Arthur thought that maybe, possibly, he should break the truth to him, but quickly shut his mouth. No matter. Francis would learn soon enough.

Though Arthur may have driven, Francis was all chivalry when they arrived. Doors were held (much to Arthur’s begrudging acceptance), he led them to their seats in the bleachers, and even offered to set down his stylish (Was that cashmere? Not a hint of polyester to be found on this garment!) light cardigan on the seats when he felt how chilly they were. It all made Arthur’s stomach turn, but he couldn’t figure out if it was due to disgust or charm.

The players were skating around on the ice, smacking little black pucks around in their warm up. Francis’ eyes eagerly darted around to try and find Matthew, but instead landed on the opposite side of the bleachers, where his other son was sitting with a group of friends. Their eyes made contact and the alpha waved his hand excitedly, but Alfred turned away, pretending like he didn’t see him. Francis recoiled.

“What?” He gasped in a motion of mild offense. Arthur had to follow his shocked gaze to see where he was looking, but then shrugged when he noticed it was just Alfred and his friends.

“Oh, don’t fret it. He’s with his friends, and we’re his parents. Of course he doesn’t want to be seen with us.” Arthur was used to this by now. No matter how much of a ‘cool parent’ you were, you were never cool enough to willingly be addressed in a teenager’s social situations. 

“But--” Francis was still recovering, and Arthur figured now was as good a time as any to introduce the circle of friends to him. He went down the line, pointing out the other boys their son was sitting with.

“That’s Lars, Matthew’s best friend, he’s on the far left. I’m sure you’ll meet him at some point, he and Matthew are inseparable most of the time. ” As soon as Francis got a look at the Dutch alpha, he understood why Matthew was so smitten. He was tall, with a stoic gaze, his hair spiked up in the way that teenagers probably thought was _all_ the rage right now, and conventionally handsome. His posture left little to be desired, leaned over slightly with his elbows on his knees, but the gruff stance added to his rugged charm. 

And, to add to it, Arthur leaned in to Francis’ space and lowered his voice. “Matthew may deny it… but he rather fancies the boy.”

“Oh yes.” Francis nodded, still observing the quad of friends. “He’s told me.”

“He told you?” The omega sat back, surprised that Francis was already privy to these delicate matters. It took Matthew months to tell him, and even now he was hesitant to discuss it!

“Well, Alfred told me.” Francis turned to look at the omega next to him. From the look on his face it looked like he was surprised. Father figure 3000 swooping in for the win. “I mean, Alfred brought it up, but Matthew didn’t deny it at all.”

“Oh.” Arthur returned to his seat. It wasn’t like he had the right to be upset about the other parent knowing all their childrens’ intricate business or anything. After all, Francis was their father. Their father who had been around for a whopping two weeks while he’d been caring for them for the past seventeen years.

_Whatever_. A worry for another time. He pointed out the next friend, an Asian omega sitting beside Alfred and playing some sort of phone game. “That’s Kiku. One of Alfred’s friends. Wonderful kid. Not entirely sure how on earth he puts up with Al, actually…” It was a wonder to behold. Al was bossy, loud, and pushy, and somehow quiet, reserved Kiku hadn’t snapped and told him to buzz off yet. He even came with him to his brother’s hockey game. Amazing.

“Seems our boy is quite the social butterfly, hm?” Francis said as he smirked and tossed a wink over his shoulder to the omega beside him. “I do wonder where he gets his _charisme_ from.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and gave a playful shove. “Quit. You’ll make me vomit.”

Francis let out a breathy snort as Arthur pointed at the last boy, a blond alpha with shoulders broad enough to dam a river. “That’s Ludwig. He and Alfred went to junior prom together last year, he has the most hopeless crush on the alpha but it didn’t pan out. Real shame.” 

“Ludwig? As in Ludwig Beilschmidt?” Francis asked, and Arthur raised his brows. 

“You know him?”

“Yes, I believe so.” He raised his hands at the suspicious glance from Arthur. “I’m not hanging out with random high schoolers! I work with his older brother, Gilbert. He talks about him all the time, he’s awfully proud.”

“Got it. Well, he should be proud. Lad's a sharp boy. Smart as a whistle. Really is a shame things didn’t work out with him and Alfred, I think they’d have made a fine pair.” 

“Ah, well. I’m sure there’s plenty of fish in his sea.” Francis shrugged it off. When you were young, of course you dated around, and sometimes things didn't work out. Alfred would be okay.

And he wouldn't have to face the situation of his newly-found son dating his best friend's younger brother. Didn't want to think on that one too hard.

Arthur let out a disappointed sigh. Honestly, he was slightly miffed on Alfred's behalf that Ludwig had turned down his son. The thought of the boys dating had nearly given him a heart attack the first time the conversation came up, but that alpha was a trustworthy fellow. “You would think, given how he is, but there hasn’t been anyone new.”

“That he's told you about.” Teenagers were like that. They kept secrets. Francis gave a knowing wink and Arthur latched onto it like a bloodhound. He turned his body to face the French alpha, curious.

“What do you mean?”

“Hm?”

“‘_That he’s told me about._’ Is he seeing someone?”

Ah shit. He forgot the little promise he'd made with Alfred to not say anything. Francis had maybe assumed that Arthur did know _something_, being that teenagers are shit at keeping secrets, but he was mistaken. “What? No, no, I was just saying--”

Arthur's eyes narrowed. If there was something going on behind his back, he was going to find it out. “Do you know something I don’t?”

Francis was about to deny any knowledge once more, but noise from the center of the rink interrupted them both. It was puck drop, and the players were lining up. Francis finally caught sight of Matthew with a big 13 on the back of his jersey and stood up in excitement. It was about to start.

The referee stood in the center with players lined up on either side. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.

And then the puck fell.

Players immediately began the fight over the little black puck, which was actually a pain in the ass to keep an eye on as it darted around the ice. Francis watched with wide eyes, at first impressed by how clean they moved over the ice. It blew his mind how smooth it was, how effortless they made it look. He was entranced.

Arthur on the other hand... He was staring at the rink, but not watching. The games always started out slow, smooth, relatively painless. But he knew better. They were just getting started.

“Wow, this is amazing, hm?” Francis took a seat once more, nudging Arthur as he nodded towards the rink. The omega simply tilted his head up in a half nod. Yeah, sure.

They were silent as the game continued. Matthew switched out and another player ran out onto the ice. A seamless, flawless transition. His father watched him in the box, beaming with pride. Back out on the ice, things were starting to get a little more exciting. The home team had the puck near the visiting team's goals, and players started their fight. Their real fight.

One of the alphas on the visiting team checked their player holding the puck, forcing him to the side just enough to avoid a checking call from the ref. A teammate went to try and snatch it with his stick while the home team tried to keep control. The defensemen pushed them towards the boards, putting up a solid shield to defend their goal. Francis grimaced.

His eyes glanced for the ref. Two of them on opposite sides of the ice. Wasn't this like football, real European football, where touch was forbidden? Why weren't they saying anything? 

The rest of the 1st almost went by without incident. Almost. Towards the end, Matthew switched back in, and by this point the fight was really beginning. The home team had made a score, and the visiting was ready to even it out before going into the first official break. He raced out onto the ice, jumping straight into his center role to grab that puck and send it back down the other end. The French alpha felt a pit of concern in his stomach when he saw his son get out into the fray once more. Not that Matthew was small, by any means, but the others were just... much bigger. Probably stronger. Probably able to slam him into the boards like a teddy bear if it meant making a goal.

Okay, so hockey was not at all what Francis had envisioned. He might as well have been watching rugby, but on ice rather than a field. The players crashed into each other, into the walls, and unlike football, pushing and shoving were _not_ much of a concern. His eyes were glued to Matthew’s jersey, cringing in anticipation every time he watched the omega get inbetween two other players. It was exciting, and he was on the edge of his seat every time his son's stick touched the puck, but nerve-racking nonetheless. Beside him, Arthur had his eyes closed, head turned down. Francis elbowed him gently.

“Hey, the game is up here.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re not even watching.”

“Keen observation.”

God, _really_? What use was it coming to the games if he wasn't going to _watch_? Francis huffed, giving the omega a rougher elbow in response. Arthur hissed and his eyes shot open, shooting him a deadly glare and opening his mouth to just tear into him. And he would have given him a good tongue lashing, if they hadn’t been interrupted by a loud SMACK on the ice and a crowd full of gasps.

They both jumped, and they both felt the horrific drop of their stomachs as they heard a small yelp and saw Matthew on his knees on the ice in front of them.

He'd gotten in a tangle with another player, and tripped as their skates collided. At the same moment, the other team executed a shot attempt at the goal. A shot attempt that was expertly deflected, sending the puck off the edge of another player's stick and straight into Matthew's face cage at high speed. The impact knocked him to the side slightly, and he let out a pained yelp from the force.

“MATTHEW!” Francis yelped, rushing down to the boards. Not that he could help, but he had to do _something_.

Arthur choked on a gasp, and hurriedly got to his feet, making his way to the exit. Francis watched him go and wanted to yell at him, but he had other matters.

With three minutes left, the game didn’t pause as Matthew got back up to his feet, his gloves abandoned on the ice. He simply skated back towards the box to recover as the ref deftly picked up the stray gloves and another player made his way out. Francis was dumbfounded. No break after that? Really? He stormed over to where the red was standing, knocking on the fiberglass panel to get the alpha’s attention.

No dice. The ref was focused on the game. With the ref ignoring him, Francis stormed over to the box. Surely the coach would listen. 

The coach was not keen to pay Francis any mind, either. His curt, dismissive responses made Francis' blood boil and, maybe against his better judgment, he escalated the situation. If no one was going to pause the game to check that his son was okay, well, then, he'd just have to take him out of there himself. When he tried to grab ahold of the handle into the box and shake it open, the coach cursed and held it tightly, keeping it closed shut. They devolved into a yelling match at each other through the panel, with Matthew shrinking in embarrassment behind his teammates as he rubbed his bruised cheek.

Just before the end of the 1st, the coach decided he'd had enough of Francis, and cooly requested the building security to escort him out.

* * *

Security offered no niceties as they removed Francis from the building. The exit they put him out through led to the parking lot, and he flung as many curses at them as he could muster in French or English before they shut the door in his face. He fumed, but as he turned around who else did he see but Arthur, sitting on the hood of his car and exhaling cigarette smoke up into the air.

“You left.” Francis snapped as he stormed up to the omega. Arthur didn’t argue. For once, he couldn’t find it in him.

“I did.” He raised the cigarette to his lips again, Francis’ eyes on his delicate fingers.

“I didn’t know you smoke.”

“Sometimes.” He held his breath in for a moment, letting that nicotine really hit right, and let it out slowly. His hand pushed the carton in Francis’ direction. “Want one?”

Francis shook his head. “No. I quit years back. But thank you.”

Arthur shrugged and stared forward, eyes on the horizon. His face seemed blank, empty, and he knew Francis was going to ask sooner or later about what happened back in there. With a deep breath, he offered up his explanation before it could be pulled from him. “I used to go to their games. Both of them. Never missed one. But then… well.” 

It was hard for him to describe it. Talking about it brought back these images in his mind again, and he struggled to keep going. “Sophmore year, one of Matthew’s games, some bastard came up behind him and gave him a slewfoot.”

“A slewfoot?”

Arthur paused, looking up at Francis and shaking his head slightly. “When they come up behind and sweep their foot to trip the other player. Dirty move, right dirty. Come on Francis, you'll have to learn these things if you're going to start coming to the games.”

Fair. He made a mental note to look up hockey terms when he got home. The omega continued.

“The bloke just came up and tripped him like it was nothing. Matthew went down backward, hard. I'll never forget the sound his helmet made when it hit the ice. And then he just... laid there. Out cold. In the middle of the rink.”

Here his voice choked, and he swallowed it down. “They wouldn’t let me out to see him. I had to stand there and watch him. Watch him lie there, waiting, hoping for him to just _get up._ It felt like forever. It was _horrifying_.”

“He was okay, eventually, just walked away with a concussion. I guess it just happens in these types of sports. But it’s hard for me to watch anymore, all I can think about is watching him fall, watching him lie there, and him not getting up. I’ll still support them, but I don’t think I can watch.”

“I'm a coward.” His voice lowered, quiet as he confessed. It would never not pain him to not be able to go watch his boys play. They were amazing athletes, both of them becoming stars on their teams despite all odds, and he was _so_ incredibly proud of them both. But he was a coward, like always, and the fear of watching his precious boys get injured kept him out of the bleachers. Francis watched the hurt on his face and understood.

“You've mentioned it to them?” He asked.

“No. I don't want them to quit playing because of me.”

Francis stared at the ground in front of them. He may have only met the boys two weeks ago, but they'd spared no detail in what they thought about their Dad. Matthew may have been a little kinder than Alfred in his opinion, but they were in agreement that their Dad just didn't care. After all, he would show up if he did, right? Francis wondered if Arthur knew.

“They think you don't go because you don't care.” There was no way to sugar coat it. Someone had to tell Arthur, and Francis was, unfortunately, just the messenger.

“_What_?” The omega sniffled back a few tears, looking over with a furrowed brow. 

The look on his face was pure hurt, and it made Francis feel a little bad that he'd just blurted it out. But he had to know. “I... I've talked with them a little. They think you don't care about their sports, and that's why you don't show up anymore.”

Arthur was flabbergasted. His mouth hung open, taken aback. “What? No, no, of _course_ I care! They wouldn’t be on those teams if I hadn’t fought to have them on them.”

It was Francis' turn to look confused, and Arthur didn't blame him. He was an alpha. These things probably had never even occurred to him. The omega propped his heel up on the front bumper and exhaled slowly, smoke blowing idly off the end of his cigarette. “When they wanted to play in their respective sports, the administration initially denied it because they didn't allow omegas onto the teams. They sent letters to the house and... maybe I shouldn't have, I know, but I opened them myself. Oh I was seeing _red_, Francis. I went in myself and spoke with them, _quite_ firmly, and demanded they allow the boys to play.”

The words on those letters still made him furious, and he had shredded them the second he was done with them so neither twin would know. The way the principal had meekly suggested '_one of the omega-friendly sports—how about soccer?_' still made his blood boil. It had taken a good solid half-hour of ranting and a threat of a discrimination suit to finally make them budge. And, wouldn't you know it, they were two of the best athletes the school had. They didn't deserve Alfred and Matthew.

Francis watched the residual anger on Arthur's face as the omega stared off down the parking lot. Based on his conversations with the boys, he could discern that this was another omitted truth. “You haven’t said anything to them about it?”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m… I’m afraid they’ll take it the wrong way and think they didn’t make it on their own merits. Which they absolutely did, they’re amazing players and no one needs me around to convince anyone of _that,_ believe me.”

He raised his cigarette to his lips, and Francis allowed him a beat of silence so he could take a quick inhale off the end. “... I may not be able to stomach watching the games, but I am so,_ so_ proud of them. I'll never stop being proud of them.”

The alpha smiled to himself. Here he was, thinking Arthur was a curmudgeon of an omega parent, when he was the one supporting them behind the scenes all along. 

Maybe there was much more to Arthur Kirkland than met his eye.

After a moment of consideration, Francis spoke up with an idea. “Would it help to go together?”

“Why would that help?”

“I’ll watch, and tell you what happens?”

Arthur smirked at the other, who shrugged his shoulders and gave him a smile. Cheeky. “Well. I suppose I could try.”

They sat there on the hood of the car, Arthur’s anxieties disappearing along with his cigarette. Talking with Francis was different, open and honest, but in a different way than talking with Paulo, or his brothers. He wasn't trying to offer up solutions to Arthur's mindless complaining, like Paulo would, and he wasn't badgering him and teasing him like any of his brothers surely would. It was just good conversation. 

He was loathe to admit it, but it was starting to feel awful nice spending time with Francis Bonnefoy.

* * *

About two hours after the irate Frenchman had been thrown out of the back exit, people began to leave the ice center building. The game had concluded, and from the looks on the attendees' faces, the home team had secured victory.

The two parents both sat up to attention, with Francis eyeing the crowd for his younger son and entourage. It was Lars, the tallest of the group, that caught his attention, and he tried to wave at Alfred following behind. The boy caught the movement of his father's wave out of the corner of his eye, and briefly—ever so quickly—made eye contact and gave a little wave before facing forward like he hadn't seen them. Francis clutched the air in victory. _Success_.

Beside him, Arthur chuckled under his breath. “Ooh, would you look at that. You got a _wave_. I don't even get eye contact.”

That wave was going to sustain Francis' sense of pride for a while. The group of boys gathered at another vehicle, probably waiting for Matthew, and the sound of Alfred's boisterous laughter echoed across the parking lot. Yes, he certainly got his charisma from him. Certainly couldn’t be from old grouchy brows over here.

The sun was beginning to set, coating the parking lot in a warm golden glow. The easy warmth of a sunny Fall afternoon was starting to give way to evening chill, and the breeze that blew across the lot carried a gentle reminder to go home, get indoors, cozy up before the cold got you. Francis pulled his light cardigan a little closer to his body against the chill of the weather. Arthur's head was falling to the side, against his shoulder, as he propped his arms up on his knees. The game was through, but there was just one more thing that had to happen here before they could leave.

Suddenly, the back door that Francis had been so rudely shoved out of threw itself open. 

Out stomped Matthew, jersey still on, and an unfamiliar look of _rage_ on his face. Francis' relaxed, happy expression fell away as he registered the anger on his boy. Arthur sat up, nonchalant, lighting up one final cigarette for the show. Here it was.

Devoid of any sense of situational awareness, Francis opened his arms to embrace Matthew as he stormed up to his parents. “Oh, _mon petite chou_, are you alright? That was such a brutal--”

“Papa, what the _hell_ was that in there?”

Matthew’s voice was sharp, loud in comparison to his usual demure nature. It caught his alpha father off guard and he stopped in his tracks. The boy stepped up closer, demanding some sort of explanation. “Papa, I’m serious, what were you thinking? _What on earth were you doing!?_”

Francis paused, looking back at Arthur for some backup. The Brit just averted his eyes, looking off at a tree, or a bird, or some shit. Hey, he'd made his exit before any of this went down. It wasn't his mess to sort out. When he realized he was getting no support here, Francis turned back to his angry son, mouth agape. “_Matthieu_, I was just worried. That puck hit you straight in the face! It had to be painful, no?”

Matthew exhaled sharply, his hand reaching up to grip at his hair in frustration. He was patient as the day was long, but he was at the end of his rope after that embarrassment. “Papa, I appreciate that you care. But I am fine! That's why I wear a cage! And even if I wasn't you don’t need to_ yell at my coach!_”

Francis scoffed. That asshole coach that wouldn't give him the time of day to check on his injured son? “Well, maybe if he listened and paused the game so we could check on you--”

“He doesn’t have to do that! I WAS FINE!”

“_Matthieu_, I was just _worried-_-”

“WELL DON’T BE!”

Finally, he snapped. Matthew raised his voice louder than anyone thought it could actually go. Arthur glanced up. The boys by the car stopped their laughing and joking, an audience to the scene playing out in the parking lot. All eyes were on the quiet, unassuming twin as he shouted his father down.

“I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING AND I KNOW HOW THE GAME WORKS! I’VE BEEN PLAYING FOR YEARS! AND IF YOU’RE GOING TO COME IN AND EMBARRASS ME IN FRONT OF MY COACH, HELL, MY TEAM, THEN JUST _STAY HOME!_”

Francis’ mouth hung open in shock. He tried to think of a response but Matthew stole his opportunity.

The omega took a deep breath, trying to find some sort of calm before continuing. “Papa, I know you’re only worried for me. But _I am fine_. I’m not flimsy, I’m not weak, I can handle myself. _Don’t_ try and protect me out there. _Please_.”

Francis had been so thankful for sweet, patient Matthew. Matthew, with a reserved demeanor and politeness that knew no bounds. But this wasn't that Matthew. His hair was disgusting mess, parts escaping the small ponytail that held most of it back and sweat catching his bangs on his forehead, if they weren’t sticking straight up. His face was red, but from the chill of the ice or the fury of having to yell down his father, it wasn’t clear. His jersey was askew, stained with sweat and rattled with wrinkles. He was seventeen years old, and already stood a bit taller than both of his parents, with broad shoulders and a strength to match that of his younger brother.

He was Matthew Kirkland and he was a _lot_ tougher than he looked.

Words escaped Francis' mouth. What could he say? He'd underestimated his son, and boy did he learn his lesson. Meekly, he nodded, and uttered a single “Okay.” 

At last Matthew let out his pent up breath, but the agitation hadn't quite cleared. “I’ll see you at home,” He mumbled, turning to walk towards his friends. Ludwig and Kiku were watching with wide, surprised eyes. Alfred’s look of shock was partially obscured by a cookie he’d started eating. And Lars?

Lars was watching with the most endearing, most proud _grin_ as his best friend stalked over to his car.

Matthew didn’t say anything as he stomped right up to the passenger side and climbed on in. Lars motioned for the rest of them to get on in and, maybe against his better judgment, turned to get one last look at his friend’s parents. He and Francis made brief eye contact before he averted his gaze, hopping into his car to take the lot of them away. 

* * *

As the other car pulled away and out of the lot, Francis swore he could feel his heart drop. He turned back to face Arthur, who was still sitting pleasantly on the hood of his car, finishing off his last cigarette completely unfazed by the verbal altercation that took place. The alpha stared at him, waiting for something, _some_ kind of reassurance.

“Oh,” Finally, Arthur piped up. He stood up, dusting off his pants and dropping his cigarette butt to the ground to put it out with his heel. “I forgot to mention something else.”

Francis’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. The Brit's lip was curled slightly, in a decidedly cheeky little smirk.

“Matthew is a _lot_ tougher than he looks.”

Francis let out a dry chuckle. What an absolute turd. That would have been nice to know before all this. And surely, there was time to tell him beforehand. “Forgot, huh?”

Arthur shrugged. “Thought maybe it best you find that one out for yourself.”

Oh, did he ever. And he wasn't keen to forget any time soon. “_Right_. Thank you for that.”

“Anytime.” Arthur was chipper and bouncy as he stepped back to the driver's side door Francis followed, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Now, technically, he wanted to point out, omission of the truth is still lying. But he wasn't about to be that pedantic. He learned his lesson, fair and square. Together they sat in silence before Arthur turned to face the Frenchman, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Still up for one of Alfred’s games? I should warn you, it’s not normal football. Have you seen American football? It’s absolutely _brutal_.” 

Francis steeled himself before nodding, determined. 

This was going to be an adjustment he wasn't prepared for. But for his boys? He could do it. He could absolutely do it.

* * *

In the other car, Lars drove with one hand on the wheel, one propped up against the window, and a swell of pride filling his heart. Matthew was quiet. Reserved, respectful, and polite. But damn did he love seeing him cut loose like that. He had a bite to him that no one ever saw coming, and it was one of the best things Lars ever got to witness.

There was so much more to Matthew Kirkland than what you saw on the surface, and that’s what he absolutely adored about him.

And it was starting to get hard to ignore the fact that he had it _bad_ for his best friend.

No one had dared say a word since they got in the car. Matthew was fuming mad, and after witnessing what just happened, no one wanted to risk unleashing that temper again. Except, of course, the ever oblivious Alfred. As soon as they were out of the parking lot, Alfred let out a snorting laugh and opened his big mouth to tease Matt about _bro what the hell just happened there,_ but was sharply interrupted.

“Dude, Matt--”

“Are there still beers in that cooler back there? Hand me one.” Matthew snapped abruptly, but then seemed to suddenly remember his manners and turned around to look over his shoulder. “_Please_.” He added, though it wasn't a very polite please.

There was indeed a cooler on the back floorboard that held a couple of beers, leftover from whenever last Lars supplied for his friends, but Alfred hesitated. Okay, weird. “I mean, yeah, but I thought you didn’t really drink, Mattie.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Matt was out of his typically unending patience. He was going to have a beer and he was going to have one now. Slowly, Alfred reached down to grab one before he got his head bit off. His brother snatched it and twisted off the cap, taking a long, much-needed swig.

Al was thrown off, but whatever. Mattie would chill out like he always does. He grinned and let out a huff, trying again to muster up a little lighthearted banter. “Matt--”

“What? You have something to say, too?” Matthew whipped around in his seat. He probably would have jumped back there in Al's face had the seatbelt not been holding him in place. The neck of his bottle was pointing in his brother's directing, jabbing at him. “You have something in your big fat mouth you _really_ have to say right now, Alfie?”

The younger twin paused, and then glanced around the car. Nope. No one was on his side on this. Ludwig was staring out the window and Kiku had his eyes glued to his phone, scrolling Twitter. And there was no way Lars was going to back him up. He sat back, shutting his trap. “... Uh, nevermind.”

“That's what I thought.” His brother sat back in his seat, taking another drink of his beer. It was still cold thanks to sitting in the truck through the fall air, and the malty beverage was just refreshingly right in his throat. He glanced at the packaging of the beer, with a decoration of an eagle on the logo, and was suddenly reminded of something else he had to lay his foot down on. He whirled around again. “And by the way, I’m not doing your _stupid_ Babe-braham Lincoln costume idea! God!”

At the mention of that, both Ludwig and Kiku suddenly turned their heads up in attention and slowly turned to look at Alfred for explanation. Here he'd come up with THE most genius costume idea for himself and Matt this year, but it was spoiled. Ruined. He looked back and forth at the both of them and quietly tried to deliver the punchline. If they couldn't serve up the laughs at the Halloween party, then he could at least crack the joke here. “Y'know, like, for Halloween. Babe-braham Lincoln and…. Whorge…. Washington…….”

No one laughed. Not even a pity chuckle or a snort of air out of the nose. Alfred sank further into his seat, embarrassed into silence. Matthew had turned straight ahead, staring at the road in front of them with a determined, fiery gaze.

Lars smirked, looking over at his friend. He didn’t get eye contact back, but he didn’t need it.

_God_, he did love him like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dirty fuckin dangles, boys


	7. Chapter 7

**October 31st, 2019. Halloween night.**

There comes a point in every child’s life when they’re finally just too old for trick or treating. Conversely, there then comes a time in every parent’s life where their kids are too old for trick or treating, and just barely old enough for their own Halloween shenanigans. The twins had long outgrown their tradition of trick or treating with their dad, dressed in the most adorable matching costumes every year, and had moved on to Halloween parties. Arthur had only cried a little bit when they told him at age 13 that they didn’t want to go trick or treating with him anymore.

Halloween party duty jumped from person to person each year, and this year Emma and Claude had stepped up to supply the festivities. But, as far as Arthur would know, it was being held at Lars’ place, with adequate adult supervision of course. He wouldn’t permit them to attend if that wasn’t the case.

Over the past few years, as the boys became more and more independent, Arthur and Paulo had begun their own Halloween tradition of hanging out at home, watching lame thrillers, and drinking as they passed out candy to neighborhood kids going door to door. But unfortunately, tonight Paulo had backed out. Something about his hospital being short staffed, and them needing some extra hands on duty for emergencies. Whatever the case, he’d be stuck at work for the night and not able to kill time with his friend in a stupid costume.

Come to think of it, Paulo had been suspiciously absent during the past few weeks. The last time they were able to sit down and have a real talk was before Francis met the boys, when Arthur went over for a little pep talk. Ever since then it had been like he'd up and left town. Even Arthur's texts were going unanswered for hours, sometimes even altogether. And he'd never, ever willingly accept that he was emotionally dependent on anyone for anything, but he had to admit.

He kind of needed a friend lately.

Sitting alone in the living room, wearing a Sherlock Holmes costume and sipping on whiskey wasn't the worst way to spend an evening, but it certainly wasn't the best. There were fewer trick or treaters in the past years too, thanks to the ubiquity of church-run “trunk or treat” events. The sanitization of the holiday bored Arthur, and he was mildly thankful that his boys got to experience the fun of a real, old-fashioned trick or treat before they outgrew the tradition. They were raised _right._

A chime echoed in the house as the doorbell rang, and Arthur jumped up in excitement. The holiday was still alive! He grabbed ahold of his candy bowl and took a brief second to compose himself, preparing to answer the door in full Sherlock character, and then pulled the front door open.

It was Francis.

… God, of _course_ it was Francis.

The French alpha was wearing a costume as well, or at least, Arthur sure hoped it was a costume. The little green Peter Pan outfit fit taut across his body, and a little tuft of chest hair was poking out through the V-neck in the front. He had a tiny hat, and green tights over his shapely legs. Not that Arthur was looking, or anything.

“Oh, Arthur!” Francis gave a friendly wink. “_Bonjour.”_

The Brit did not respond. He was dumbstruck.

Francis snorted, leaning in to break the omega's concentration. “My eyes, Arthur.”

“Huh?” He looked up, surprised. “I'm sorry, what?”

“My eyes, they're up here.”

“Oh. Oh!” It took him a second, but he recovered rapidly and gave Francis a light smack on the chest. “Oh come off it! Caught me off guard is all, don't read into it.”

“Whatever you say.” The alpha chuckled and decided to drop it, but not without noticing the red blush that covered Arthur's cheeks. He was _going_ to read into this. “Say, are the boys here? I came to wish them a happy Halloween, see if they might want to go trick or treating!”

“Mm. They've left already.” Arthur held the candy bowl with both arms in front of him. Really, he didn't need even half of the candy in here, he'd never get enough visitors to give it all out, but he knew how much Alfred looked forward to the extra candy. Little things. “And they don't really trick or treat anymore, unfortunately. They're too old for that, now.”

Francis' expression dropped. He was honestly looking forward to this evening, getting to see them in their costumes, taking pictures of them, and escorting them around the neighborhood to collect sugary goodies. A tiny sliver of his heart had hoped that maybe, hopefully, they were still kids inside and wanted to celebrate a good old fashioned Halloween with their Papa.

Oh well. Looks like he'd missed out on that era.

Arthur knew that look all too well. The first year they'd proposed going to a friend's house instead of trick or treating, he'd been devastated. He'd called Paulo first thing and they spent the night together drinking, eating candy, and letting Arthur cry about how the boys were growing up just way too fast. It was what led to their little tradition year after year. The one that Paulo had decided to skip out on tonight.

It would be cruel to turn him away now, so Arthur stepped aside, holding the door open with his foot. “You can come in, if you'd like. I mean, it's not like I'm doing much, but since you're already here...” He shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalant as possible, but he couldn't deny it would be kind of nice to have a friend right now.

And he couldn't say no to the opportunity of getting a real good look at Francis in those tiny green tights.

The French alpha nodded and made his way inside, muttering a simple _merci_ as he moved past. Arthur set the candy bowl down and picked up his drink, watching him move past as discreetly as he could muster.

Maybe spending a night in with the frog wouldn't be such a bad idea.

* * *

Thank fuck that the Halloween party tradition had started so innocently all those years back. And thank fuck that Arthur trusted Lars enough to believe Matthew and Alfred when they told him they'd be spending Halloween night at his house, with friends, movies, and adequate adult supervision. Matthew was the one to really sell it, and their dear dad would believe damn near anything that came out of Matt's mouth. It was a piece of cake getting out for the night (and a Thursday, no less!) to go party with the rest at Claude's massive mansion.

Lars, being the only one with a decent job and solid hookups, supplied the booze: a few cases of beer in addition to whatever liquors the partygoers had sniped from their parents' cabinets. There was spooky music playing, naturally, and pizza in the oven.

It was going to be a good night.

“Jesus.” Lars cursed. The sounds of Alfred's boisterous, raucous laughter was spilling in through the bedroom door. He could never get away from that obnoxious noise. “Matt, be honest, does he ever stop?”

“No.” Matthew chuckled as he leaned back on the guest bed, clutching his sailor hat to his chest. As much as he loved his dear brother, he was always the loudest and made it known. “He doesn't, actually.”

A gruff groan was all Lars responded with as he plopped down on the bed beside his friend. He had to adjust the tail of his costume—a big bad wolf, to match his sister's Little Red—and he let out a deep exhale as he got the chance to just take a breath.

Parties were never a thing Lars went out of his way for. They were fun, yeah, but to be truthful he'd have just as much fun hanging out with a group of close friends than getting drunk with a bunch of people he only sorta knew. If it weren't for Matt being here, and for his siblings literally BEGGING him to come, he'd probably have just stayed home. But here he was.

Matthew stared up at the ceiling, thinking the exact same thing. He hated parties. He especially hated going to parties with his brother. Alfred was _the_ life of the party. Not a soul there would leave not knowing who he was. Meanwhile, Matthew... he was quiet. A wallflower. And every time he ended up at one of these things with Alfred he found himself wishing that _just once_ he could be the center of attention.

It wasn't the first time Matthew had ever felt like this, and one look at Lars' face told him all he needed to know about how his friend was feeling. And, well, maybe Lars didn't have _the_ solution, but he did have _a _solution.

He sat up, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull something out. A cookie, wrapped in a decorated plastic bag. He handed it over to Matthew, who sat up to examine it.

“Got this from the dispensary today.” Lars propped himself back on his palms as Matt took a look over the little package. “Figured we shouldn't smoke in the house, but fuck, I'm going to need something to get me through--” A loud whoop from Alfred could be heard from down the hall. “--y'know, that.”

The omega gave him a playful smack on the shoulder at that comment. “Be nice. He's still my brother.”

Lars just shrugged in response. He could neither confirm nor deny whether he'd be nice or not. Track record wasn't so good between him and the loud twin. Matthew was the one he gave a shit about, after all. And as he watched the blonde, his eyes downturn as he stared at the little package in his hands, he could tell that something wasn't quite right.

“Matt.” He spoke, not deliberately asking for an explanation, but inviting one. That was one thing he never did—he never pushed his friend to do or say anything. Lord knows he got enough of that treatment from his ornery, pushy brother. Matthew glanced up at his friend and sighed, unable to hide anything from him.

“Al and I got into it on the way over here.” His voice was passive, like usual, but almost like he didn't want to admit it. And he didn't. He knew why there was tension between them, but the truth was the elephant in the room he'd wanted to avoid. “I didn't want to do his matching costume this year. Like, a matching costume at all. I wanted to do my own. And he's been so weird and snappy at me ever since.”

It was a fact of life that they were both aware of, but fighting desperately to try and ignore. As comfortable as it was, they wouldn't be able to exist as The Kirkland Twins forever. But still... they were brothers. All they had at the end of the day was each other, and it felt like they were falling apart.

Lars nodded, though he couldn't say he understood. He'd never had the bond with his siblings like Matthew had with Alfred. “You're coming up on adulthood, you're going to have to separate eventually. He needs to get over it.”

Matthew shot him a glare, even though he knew Lars was right. “Well it sounds harsh when you put it like that..."

The alpha shrugged. To be fair, he wasn't ever one for sugar-coating things. But he knew Matt's troubles with being so close to his high-profile brother, and sooner or later he would have to separate for his own good. He'd never truly bloom if he kept living like his shadow. Matt knew too, but god did he not want to admit it quite yet. Even though he'd been looking at colleges and universities apart from the one Alfred was determined to go to, he hadn't breathed a word about it to anyone beside Lars.

Like most things, Matthew didn't need to say anything out loud for Lars to understand. His friend reached over and put his hand on his shoulder, reassuring and kind. It sent a shiver down the omega's spine—another truth he wasn't quite ready to address, but one he was becoming more and more aware of. A very faint blush crept onto his cheeks, graciously hidden by the dimmed lights of the bedroom.

“You guys will figure it out.” Lars assured, reaching over to take the edible back. He pulled the plastic wrapper edge apart, snapping the soft cookie in two and offering half to Matthew. “But not tonight. Just take it easy for the night, alright? It's a party after all.”

Matthew smirked, taking the cookie half. He was eternally grateful for Lars. And for this low lighting providing a hell of a cover for his red cheeks. “Thanks Lars. That's what I appreciates about you.”

“Is that what you appreciates about me?” He shot back, earning a huge grin from his friend.

Matthew just laughed as he bit into his weed cookie. God, he was in fucking _love._

* * *

Downstairs, Al was doing a great job of politely turning down the drinks being offered to him. Any other day he'd be knocking them back like the pro he was, but this was a Thursday, and he still had a game to play tomorrow evening. From experience, a hungover player didn't make such a great teammate, let alone a hungover quarterback trying to impress college recruiters. If he was going to play his best, he had to hold off the booze for tonight.

“Ughhh, boringgg!” Claude groaned as he poured shots for the rest of the teens standing around in the kitchen. He was a fairy godmother—a low effort costume, actually, just his normal clothes with a tutu and a tiara placed delicately on his head. Here he'd gone to all sorts of lengths to throw the best Halloween party for their senior year of high school, and Alfred, the life of the party known across the land, wasn't going to drink. “Real buzzkill, you know!”

“I know, I know, I'm sorry!” Alfred apologized with a chuckle as the shots were dispersed among the others. He held up his can of Coke, the closest substitute to a good time he could think of. “But I'll still toast with y'all!”

“Whatever, nerd!” Emma teased as she held up her own shotglass. It was some sort of dark liquor, maybe whiskey or rum. “Toast it up with your little can of diabetes over there. Hey, Matthew, you want in on this?”

Matthew had ever so quietly sauntered downstairs, standing next to his brother without the other even noticing it. Not until Emma mentioned his name did Alfred finally look to his side and see him. The older twin gave a little wave, the 'hi, yes, I am here!' gesture he was all too familiar with.

Things were a little... tense between the two brothers, and it wasn't a secret by their body language. This was the first year they'd ditched the tradition of matching costumes, with Matthew wearing a downright adorable sailor outfit and Alfred attempting to rock his Babe-braham Lincoln costume solo, sans the beard. Didn't quite flatter his face. It had been Matthew's initiative to drop it, with Alfred taking the decision a little harder than he probably should.

Since they were kids, they did everything together. They came as a package set. They were the dynamic duo, a regular dream team, and yes, Halloween was the best time to flaunt it with matching costumes. The fact that his brother didn't want to dress up with him for the first time in their lives had shaken Alfred up. Matt was his rock, and he wasn't sure what to do without his rock. Ever since that afternoon in the back of Lars' car, when his brother had snapped at him and told him he '_wasn't going to do his stupid Babe-braham Lincoln costume'_ Alfred had been on eggshells. Even the drive here, he had the grand idea to open his big fat mouth and tell his brother he'd look a lot better as Whorge Washington, and ooh what a mistake _that_ had been.

“Y'know,” Matthew piped up, voice quiet as usual, “There's actually just as much sugar--”

“There's actually just as much sugar in that rum you're drinking!” Alfred cut him off, his naturally louder voice dominating the air and canceling him out of the conversation entirely. “Seriously, google it!”

Matthew took a deep breath, lips tight. He nudged his way past his brother, over to the island counter they were all gathered at. He'd had that half of the weed cookie Lars brought, but fuck it, he wanted to get blasted tonight. “Actually, yeah, I'll--”

“He'll have a shot!” Alfred spoke up, again speaking over his brother. “Go ahead and pour him one, Ems!”

Matthew looked over his shoulder at his younger brother, trying to hide the tension in his face with overt politeness. Passive aggression, the Matthew way. “I think I can ask for it myself, Al.”

“I'm just helpin' you out!” Al shrugged defensively. “You're so damn quiet sometimes, you need someone to speak up for ya.”

“Maybe if you weren't so damn _loud_ I wouldn't need help.” He snapped, and Alfred didn't have the words for a response. Matthew just rolled his eyes dismissively, knocked back the shot, and then left the glass on the counter before leaving. Fuck it, he'd go get twisted on his own tonight. But first, he was going to go upstairs to cool down for a bit and maybe splash some much-needed water on his face. That edible was due to kick in any moment.

“Oh my _god.”_ Feliks suddenly stood up from where he was leaning on the counter. He nudged Alfred with his elbow and jerked his head to the side, pointing to where Ivan was standing by the back door. “Who invited _that_ degenerate?”

No one moved to defend the Russian boy, who had no idea they were even talking about him. Claude shrugged, reaching up to run his hands through his fringe. “I don't know. It was an open invite.”

Feliks let out a noise of disgust as he took a sip from his beer. Mid sip, he raised his eyebrows, and then leaned in to spill whatever tea he had. “I heard he lights kittens on fire. For _fun._”

Emma's expression was distressed. “Feliks, that's awful.”

The short blonde alpha just shrugged innocently. “I mean, that's just what I _heard._”

Alfred watched Ivan hold the door open for his sister. It reminded him of when they went out for ice cream over the summer. He'd held the door for the alpha, intentionally stepping ahead so he could be the one to get it, only to turn around and see his boyfr—his _friend_—knelt down, trying to coax a stray cat out from under a bush. At the time it had annoyed him, because he was standing there holding this damn door and _Ivan really hurry up I can't stand here all day_, but it was endearing. In a sweet, childlike way. Ivan loved cats, he'd never intentionally hurt a kitten, let alone light it on fucking fire.

Alfred wanted to defend him. Really, he did. But he had a reputation to uphold, and Ivan was no part of that.

He leaned into the gossip circle as well. “Bet he sacrifices them in some weird Russian black magic ritual.”

“Alfred!” Emma whined, slapping the counter with her hands. “No more talking about hurting cats! I hate it!”

As soon as she saw the group at the island, with their hushed voices and sideways glances at her brother, Natalya pursed her lips and sauntered her way over like a snake. Her eyes latched onto Alfred in particular, making sure he knew that she was here to keep an eye on _him_.

The boy exhaled and averted his eyes, taking a sip of his pop. He just could not catch a break tonight, could he?

Natalya was Ivan's younger sister who lived in the city with their oldest sibling, who'd moved out and took young Natalya with her to keep her away from their alcoholic father. Alfred never thought he'd have to actually meet either of them. But, as luck would have it, she'd been the one to catch him and Ivan making out in his car over the summer. Parked in front of Ivan's house, on his back in the backseat of that tiny, cramped Civic, he would never forget the look of utter disgust on her face when he noticed her peering through the window at them.

'_She is just protective of me, Fredka,' _Ivan had reassured him with an exasperated sigh that told him this wasn't the first time he'd struggled with Natalya's defensive tendencies. _'You have nothing to worry about.'_

But the venomous glance from Natalya standing across the kitchen island told him otherwise. And Alfred was not one to let down his guard so easily.

Emma, however, tossed her arms around the alpha female in a friendly hug. The two of them had actually been fairly close in middle school, before Natalya moved away to the city. “Natty! Oh my god, it's been forever, huh?”

“It has.” The tall, Slavic girl returned the hug, her long, icy blonde hair falling over both their shoulders like water. “I never did imagine you'd be the drinking type, but this is a nice surprise.”

“Well,” Emma gave her shoulders a happy little bounce as she poured a starter shot for her old friend. “I'm full of 'em! Bottoms up!”

The shot glasses were filled and mixed drinks topped off as the group began another round of toasts. Natalya stared at Alfred, holding onto his can of Coke while keeping oddly silent, and tilted her shotglass in his direction. “None for you, Alfred?”

“Oh, nah.” He shook his head. Being addressed by her suddenly gave him an anxious chill. Her tone may have seemed innocent but he _knew_ there was no kindness for him here. “I have a game tomorrow. Gotta keep the ol' noggin clear, y'know? That's my secret to winning!”

Her eyebrows raised and she stifled a smug chuckle. “Never would have guessed. I always figured you were using steroids or something. I mean, how else does an omega get so big and bulky, huh?”

Alfred's mouth hung open in shock. Beside him, Feliks couldn't help but snicker slightly, the alcohol blurring away any sense of manners. With a nonchalant ease, Natalya downed her shot and left the empty glass on the table. “Or, y'know, maybe he's just fat.”

Claude raised his hands up and slowly turned away. No way was he jumping in the middle of that power burn.

The burned omega gave a disgusted chuckle, the corners of his mouth turning up in a wry smile. “Always great to see you, Natalya.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

She leaned on the counter, running her tongue over her teeth and staring daggers into Alfred's eyes. She didn't have to say anything, but her body language made her message clear.

_I know what you're doing with my brother, and you'd better stop it._

If Alfred were a smarter guy, he'd probably walk away and not give her the satisfaction of a response. But, much like his Dad, he had a mouth he couldn't control and a distinct inability to just know when to quit.

“Gotta be kind of lonely in the city, huh? Sorry your sister moved you all the way out there, away from your friends. And, I mean, I'd be totally willing to be your friend! Maybe we could hang out when I'm in town!” He perked up, and Natalya snorted at his chummy answer, but before she could snipe something back he raised his hand up.

“Ohh wait. No, I can't. I generally try not to befriend _giant fucking bitches_.”

Natalya's gaze steeled as she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Wouldn't want any competition, huh?”

Alfred set down his can and was about to just let her have it when Emma's hands flew in between them, like trying to wave away the tension. “Guys! Chill out, god, it's a party, not a fight.”

“Yeah, can we please, like, keep the air a little lighter? I mean if you have beef, take it outside. The décor in here is expensive.” Claude agreed. All he'd wanted was a fun party where he could get drunk and maybe flirt a little with cute omegas from other schools, not a bitch fit.

“Fine.” Natalya and Afred both agreed at the same time. The tall, blonde alpha girl decided to do just as suggested and head outside. She picked up her cup, thanking Emma for mixing the drink, and then sauntered around the counter towards the back door.

… And purposefully bumped into Alfred on the way, spilling her booze-laden drink all over him.

“Whoops.” She shrugged, giving him a sly smile. If he was going to call her a bitch, she was going to be one.

Alfred gasped in shock, watching the dark liquid trail down his clothes. Shit, shit, _shit._ He'd yoinked this suit getup from his dad's closet, how on earth was he going to sneak it back with it reeking of vodka?

He shot a glare that could curl your hair at Natalya as she slipped out the back door. Ivan was standing nearby, not sure what had happened, but watching Alfred look like a flapping chicken with his arms held up like that.

“Ohhh fuck.” Feliks cackled beside him, and Alfred decided he'd had e-fucking-nough. He slammed the Coke down on the counter once more and turned to walk up the stairs.

“I gotta clean this up, I'll be back.” He excused.

As soon as the rest of them quit staring at the direction he'd went, Ivan quietly slipped up the stairs behind him.

* * *

“Why are we doing this again? Please, remind me.”

Back at home, Arthur was tying a bit of string around a little plastic bat. Francis was standing behind him, arms crossed, not entirely sold on the details.

“Because,” The omega, slightly intoxicated by this point, turned around to explain the prank again, “Alfred and I have a contest every year. To see who can scare who the most. He's already gotten me this morning with a whoopie cushion under my toilet seat, I'm going to rig this up so when he gets home later, he'll get a good scare.”

Francis furrowed his brow, arms crossing a little tighter. Arthur waved his hand at him. “Please. It's all in good fun. We've done this every year, it's tradition.”

“Right.” The alpha wasn't entirely sure he wanted to get roped into this, but Arthur had asked for his help. If Alfred took it the wrong way, surely he could pin the blame on the omega parent. “But why do you need me?”

“_Because,_” Arthur turned around again, tired of explaining. “I can't reach the wall above his doorway, and the bloody pup broke the only step ladder I have doing some stupid YouTube challenge.”

Francis nodded, understanding a little bit more. He wanted him to reach up and pin the plastic critter to the wall, no doubt so it'd fall down when their son walked in the door. A classic. There was just one problem.

“But Arthur,” Francis shifted his weight onto one foot. “We're the same height.”

“What?” The omega whirled around, puzzled. “No, you're taller. Aren't you?”

The blonde Frenchman shook his head. “No. If you can't reach it, I can't either.”

Just to prove the alpha wrong, Arthur scoffed and stood up straight against him. His hand travelled from the top of his head to Francis' and... yeah, they were the same height. Dammit.

“Oh.” Arthur's eyes fell, no doubt wondering how he got that wrong. He could have sworn Francis was taller than him last time he took note. Then another thought hit his brain and he furrowed his brows, looking back up at the alpha in front of him. “But then how did the boys get so tall?”

Francis paused, confused. Good point. How did the boys get so tall? “I... don't know.”

“Huh.” Arthur pondered for a moment, going through the heights of his family members, but then shook his head and waved his hands, dismissing the stray thought. “Whatever. I just need help getting up there, that's all.”

“I'll do my best.” Francis nodded as the omega clumsily gathered the supplies and headed towards Alfred's room.

Arthur scurried in like a maniacal gremlin, toy bat in one hand and scotch tape in the other. When he got in, he tossed it down onto the boy's unmade bed and then turned to face Francis. “So,” He began, pointing to the top of the doorframe as he ripped off a piece of tape. “You lift me up, and I'll attach it to the wall. It'll rest on the top of the door until he comes home, moves it, and bam!”

The omega stepped over, with footing slightly unstable thanks to the whiskey, and stood between the doorway and Francis. Francis, who didn't move, not sure if he was serious. Physical touch was like acid to Arthur, or so he thought. He felt like maybe this was a trap, set to go off the second his arms went around his waist. But after he didn't move, the Brit glanced over his shoulder and snapped at him. “Well, are you going to help or not?”

That was as much invitation as he needed. He stepped closer, bent his knees slightly, and wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist. And with a strong _oof_ he lifted him up. Arthur jerked his arms outward to grab ahold of the doorframe for balance, but once he was up he let out a pleased chuckle and began to tape the bat. Success!

“It's on!” He chirped excitedly, and Francis couldn't help but smile at the omega's giddy excitement. Oh, he could only hope that this was something Alfred would take in good stride. The omega let go of the frame to give a happy little golf clap and nearly leaned backwards enough to fall right out of Francis' arms. The alpha quickly brought him back down onto his feet, laughing along with him and looking up at the perfectly rigged trap up above.

“_Brilliant.” _Arthur complimented. Francis agreed. Never say teamwork didn't make the dream work. Even if that dream was Halloween pranking your teenage son.

He even left his arms around Arthur's waist as they admired their job, and Arthur didn't even say anything.

* * *

Alfred's feet dropped like heavy stones on the steps as he stormed his way to the upstairs bathroom. The most out of the way place to go, because he did need a moment to cool down. He figured Ivan would probably show up at some point tonight, but Natalya? Really?

“Fredka.” A voice behind him caused him to whip around, grabbing ahold of the railing for balance. Ivan was on the bottom step, looking up with pleading eyes. “Please, what is wrong?”

“Natalya? Really, Ivan? Did you _really_ have to bring your sister?” Alfred hissed as he stepped back down.

“I did not want to show up alone.” He shrugged. “I figured it might be suspicious. I don't have the best reputation around here, you see.”

Of course. Alfred and his friends had been gossiping about how Ivan _murdered kittens_ earlier. He wanted to throw up. Hopefully the big alpha hadn't really heard any of that. “She fucking _hates_ me, dude! You see what she did?” He held out his arms, indicating the liquid stains that ran down his arms and legs.

Ivan frowned. “I am sorry. She is just protective, is all.”

“Protective my ass.” Alfred huffed. God, how was he going to get this shit out? “She's downright threatening me, Ivan!”

The alpha crossed his arms. “Your brother does not care much for me either.”

“Well...” He had a point. Matthew seemed to think that Ivan was bad news, and wasted no opportunity to let his brother know his strong opinions. “But he's not, like, throwing his booze at you or calling you fat.”

“She did that?”

“YES! God!”

Alfred turned around, looking down at his stained shirt in frustration. He wasn't used to being the enemy, to being disliked by anyone. He was Mr. Popular, the hero, and people were supposed to want to be his friend. Ivan, on the other hand, was all too used to being on the fringes of social circles. He could take a little bit of antagonization, no biggie. He had a thicker skin, more accustomed to the snide remarks and rumors spread by his peers.

Slowly, he placed his foot on the same step as the omega, very gingerly lifting his hands to brush aside a hair on Alfred's face. The blonde boy looked up at him over the rim of his glasses, his eyes red where he was trying not to cry. And, god, did he want to just reach out and bury his face in that warm, soft scarf that Ivan always wore.

But he had a _reputation_ to uphold.

Alfred pulled back, his hand pushing back against Ivan's chest. He looked down, not daring to see the hurt in the other's eyes as he denied his touch.

“Leave me alone.” His words were shaky, unpracticed and uncertain.

“Fredka.” Ivan didn't budge. He knew Alfred too well for this to be the end. He wasn't going anywhere.

“I can't...” Alfred was stumbling over all his words, trying to string together some coherent sentence. Trying to figure out what the hell it was he actually wanted. He wanted to shove him away, but he wanted to hug him. He wanted to tell him to just buzz off, but he wanted to cry and confide in him, too. He wanted to leave this entire fucking party, but he wanted to leave with _him._

Why did this all have to be so fucking complicated?

In a fit of frustration he reached out and pushed Ivan's chest roughly. If he wasn't going to back away, he was going to make him.

Ivan felt the rough plant of Alfred's palms on his chest, but for a brief, sudden second, their eyes met. Like they had before, and he saw the pleading, confused hurt in the omega's eyes. A look he'd come to be all too familiar with. And then, swiftly, he lurched forward, shoving Al against the wall with a brute force. Their lips crashed together, and he stood firm over him as they kissed.

The sudden _thud_ of Alfred's body against the wall startled Matthew, who'd had his ear pressed to the bathroom door, catching bits and pieces of their conversation. He'd hidden himself up here in the bathroom to cool down after their disagreement downstairs, not expecting to end up in just the right place for just the right eavesdropping. He covered his mouth in shock. _Oh no._ That thud couldn't be what he thought it was. He prayed it wasn't what he thought it was. Slowly, carefully, he cracked the door open to peek outside. Alfred had to be okay.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he actually saw on the stairway in front of him.

As Ivan anticipated, Al didn't want him to leave him alone. Not by a long shot. He wanted him more. Their bodies melted together, Alfred's tense body going limp between Ivan and the wall, his hands reaching up to grip into that mess of ashy blonde hair. It made him so mad sometimes, that unexplainable _hold_ that Ivan held over him. So mad he didn't even know how to handle himself.

A million neurons in his brain were firing, telling him to shove him off, yell at him, quick do it fast before anyone sees! But his gut was telling him otherwise; telling him to forget the others, to hold on tight to Ivan and never let go. And Alfred always, always listened to his gut.

Unable to process the scene of his brother getting macked on by _Ivan Bragisnky_, of all people, Matthew nearly stumbled backwards so he wouldn't be caught by a wandering eye. Holy fuck. He reached a hand onto the counter to stabilize himself, and accidentally knocked a hairbrush off the edge. It clattered to the floor, the sound of plastic hitting tile all but announcing his presence.

The second it hit the ground Alfred shoved Ivan away from him, standing straight to attention. He looked like a deer in headlights, staring at the bathroom door. _Shit. _His breath caught in his chest. The door was still cracked open. Whoever was in there might have seen them. “Someone's in there.”

Ivan was less worried, and just craned his neck to try and see who was in the bathroom. Part of him was sincerely hoping his sister hadn't crept in there somehow to spy on them. It sounded crazy but... sometimes she was. Suddenly Alfred let out a frustrated huff and started to walk down the stairs.

“I need some air.” He mumbled, then stopped and turned sharply, pointing his finger at Ivan in a warning. “_Don't _follow me.”

And with that, Alfred crept down the stairs and snuck out to the back. Ivan frowned as he watched him go. Anywhere else, and things would be different. Anywhere else, and he could simply hold the omega and kiss him like they both wanted. But the weight of society expectations hung heavy on Alfred's shoulders, a weight he still couldn't get free from. Ivan only hoped that he could. Maybe, someday.

* * *

The evening began to wind down back at home, and a tired, tipsy Arthur was slumped on the living room cough, leaning against Francis. They were watching some cheesy slasher movie on the new TV that Alfred had _begged_ his dad to get to replace the one that was stolen several weeks back. It seemed a waste to get it set up in time for Halloween, and then not watch some corny, gory film this evening.

Both of them crinkled their noses as one of the protagonists finally bit the dust. It wasn't particularly believable, with the bright red blood spurting all about and the downright terrible acting failing to sell the scene at all. Arthur snorted as he popped a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

“These are hardly convincing. Look at that. It's as if they used ketchup for the bloodstains.” He criticized, words still a little lopsided.

Francis agreed, crossing his legs and being cautious not to overturn the popcorn bowl perched in his lap. “What do you expect out of a cheap slasher film? They only aim for shock value these days.”

“Yes, but they're failing at even that.” The omega chuckled. He was leaning comfortably against the Frenchman, his costume cape draped over himself like a blanket. Francis' arm was up on the back of the couch, ever so slightly leaning on his shoulders. It was oddly comforting. He'd allow this touch, for now.

“Well, if you wanted substance, you need a good psychological thriller.” Francis sipped his wine. He hadn't had nearly as much to drink as the other, but couldn't say no when Arthur offered to uncork an unopened bottle on top of the fridge. It wasn't in his blood to deny it.

The omega shrugged his shoulders. Halloween was meant for cheesy movies like this. You weren't supposed to watch good horror movies, you were supposed to watch lame, low-budget scare fests and spend the night ragging on them. At least, that's the tradition he and Paulo had built over the years.

A comfortable silence fell over the both of them, leaning against each other on the couch like this. Tomorrow Arthur would be back to normal, keeping the frog at arm's distance and sitting up straight with a composed face. But tonight? They could stay like this, just tonight, and take in the brief moments of intimacy together.

And then a thought struck Francis' mind, and he opened his big mouth.

“What's been the scariest moment of your life?”

Arthur sat forward, turning his head to give Francis a somewhat startled, confused look. He'd obviously intended it as a light conversation starter, but boy was that a loaded question. Slowly, the omega leaned back down, trying to think of his answer.

There were many moments in Arthur's life that had paralyzed him with fear. Of course, he thought of the first, truly earth-shattering moment of terror he could remember: when he read the positive pregnancy test in his bathroom at sixteen. But now he wouldn't trade his boys for the world, and in hindsight, maybe that moment wasn't quite as scary now as it was back then. He'd certainly managed, after all.

Maybe then, after they were born, when he'd felt the true weight of caring for another living being and drifted into a downward spiral of researching every potential infant illness and disaster that could happen. How many nights had he woken up in an anxious panic, rushing to their crib to make sure they were still breathing? At the time it was his worst fear, but now? He could only look back and chuckle at his naivety.

Then there was the year that Alfred learned about parkour, and spent an entire summer trying to jump off of damn near anything he could get up onto. _That_ certainly made his heart stop a few times.

But, no, he remembered quite vividly the most terrifying moment of his life, and it would never leave his brain, no matter how much time passed. He didn't look up at Francis as he began to explain the story.

“When Matthew was born.”

Francis' brows raised in surprise and he looked down at the omega leaned leisurely against him, but Arthur was staring forward, carefully recalling what had happened. It seemed like he hadn't thought much about it for quite some time, and he chose his words ever so cautiously. “He was born first of the two. The cord was wrapped around his neck three times. His breath was cut off, and his entire face was purple. It was over, and there was just... silence. Not a single cry or wail. My heart stopped, just... stopped.”

Arthur took a deep breath, pulling the cape a little closer to his body. “He was fine, thankfully. The doctors were able to unwrap him and get him going just fine. But I don't think I've ever been more terrified than I was in that moment.”

Francis was quiet after that, and Arthur knew what must have been running through his head. This wasn't the only thing the alpha had missed out on, and no doubt he was picturing all the moments that could have been. First steps, first words, first days of school. First crushes, first arguments, first times behind the wheel. All of them, little life moments that would never be coming back. Because Arthur, pitiful Arthur, was too much of a coward to ever confront him with the truth.

The weight of the missed moments fell heavy on the omega's conscious, and slowly, dejectedly, he turned his head down. “I'm sorry Francis. You should have been there.”

There weren't words in the English language to convey the remorse Arthur felt. The guilt, heavy and harsh, made him want to simply shrivel up and disappear. Francis didn't offer up consolation. He couldn't in good faith say that it was alright, after all.

But still, he felt a desire to do something to make the distressed omega beside him feel better. Maybe it was those pesky _alpha hormones_ his mother had always brought up. He'd always blown them off as old wives' tales, some weird pseudoscience myths from the olden days—he wasn't an animal, after all. But perhaps there was some truth to them.

Cautiously, with his arm still draped over Arthur's shoulder, he leaned down and gave a gentle kiss to the top of his head. A moment passed by with no response, none at all from the Brit. And then, like he'd suddenly realized what had happened, he shot up, turning to look at Francis with wide eyes of shock.

“What was that for?”

The alpha shrugged his shoulders. Yes, what exactly was that for? “I... wanted to make you feel better.”

Arthur looked like he'd just been thrown for a loop. A pink flush crept onto his cheeks as he turned back around, returning to his place on the couch. He gripped the edges of his cape blanket a little tighter around himself. “Oh. Well. Don't do it again.”

“Understood.” Francis smiled ever so softly and reached for the remote to turn up the volume.

* * *

The backyard of Claude's house was massive, situated on an expanse of property that backed up to a patch of woods. Some years ago, someone must have downed a tree and carved it into a nice sitting bench. This was where Alfred found peace, sitting far, far away from the house and watching his breath make fog in front of him.

Tonight had been awful, no matter which way you looked at it. He just wanted to go home and hide in his bed, stress eat a whole bunch of potato chips, and not talk to anyone. All that was very un-Alfred-like.

On the other end of the property a blonde-headed figure made it's way across the grass, beelining straight for Alfred. When the teen saw, he exhaled with a groan. God, he just wanted to be alone right now. What did they want?

But when he saw it was Matthew, he felt relief. Matthew was his rock. His brother. He relied on him more than the older twin would ever know, and even though they were on thin ice as of late, he needed him now more than ever.

… And then he saw his face.

His brother was stomping up to him, face turned in sheer anger. It almost reminded him of when he stormed up to their father to rip him a new asshole last week. Alfred's smile dropped, confused. He just sat there, puzzled, as his brother stormed straight up, standing over him. “Mattie--?”

Without a pause, explanation, or anything, Matt walked right up and shoved Alfred over the back of the log. The younger twin let out a sharp yelp as he fell back into the soft grass. He made an attempt to prop himself up on his palms to get back up, but his brother hopped over the log and knelt beside him, immediately slapping him about with his hands.

“MATT!” Alfred shrieked, shielding his face from his brother's flying palms. “MATT what the HELL?”

“YOU LIED TO ME!” Matthew kept slapping at him, yanking his brother's glasses off his face and chucking them so he could get a good slap at his face. Alfred's arms lifted up to block it.

“MATT CHILL!”

“NO!”

“YES!”

They scuffled, with Matthew using his weight to pin his brother down and Alfred just trying to keep his beautiful face from getting slapped silly. Finally, he reached an arm down to give Matt a sharp pinch on the thigh, and used the moment his brother cringed in pain to throw him off. Alfred scurried to his feet, holding out his arms to defend himself if his brother decided to pounce on him again.

“Mattie, what the fuck? What are you doing?” He was panting heavily, startled by his older brother's sudden outburst. Matthew stood up as well, not bothering to wipe the grass stains on his costume.

“You lied to me!” He was out of breath, and his glasses were starting to fog up. “You said you called it off with Ivan. You _promised_ me things were okay. But I heard him shove you, I _saw_ you two on the stairwell!”

Oh, fuck. Alfred swallowed, followed by a deep sigh. Once he was certain he wasn't about to get tackled by his angry brother, he knelt down to pick his glasses up. Guess it was time to come clean.

“I'm sorry, Mattie.” He let his pent up breath out, shoulders falling. “Can we sit down and talk?”

Seeing his brother's defeated face made Matthew drop his offense. He let his shoulders fall as well, nodding suspiciously. The two of them, covered in grass stains and dirt marks from their scuffle, sat side-by-side on the log.

Alfred inhaled, let the air sit in his lungs for a moment, and then let it out. Time to get it over with. “Yes, I'm still seeing him. I'm sorry I lied to you.”

“But why?”

“Why am I seeing him or why did I lie?”

“Both, Al.”

“Well... on the first one, I just. I really kind of like him, okay? Please don't tell anyone.” It felt weird to admit it, even to himself, but it was true. He liked how Ivan made him feel, and he couldn't deny it. “He's not like how everyone thinks he is. He's actually kind of sweet, but intense and protective, and... I don't know, I like it.”

Matthew shook his head angrily. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Alfie, _no_.”

“Why not? What is your deal with Ivan?”

“Well, he broke your nose, for starters.”

“Yeah because I egged him on!” Alfred exclaimed, and then groaned because of course he hadn't told the truth on _that_ either.

Matthew was staring at him suspiciously, and Alfred huffed before continuing with his Bad Truth Extravaganza. “Never, ever tell Dad, but it was my fault that fight started Freshman year. I was the one who got in _his_ face, and I pushed him first. When the teachers found us, they blamed him because, well, I was bloodied up and he wasn't. And...” He grimaced, getting to the part that _really_ didn't make him look too great. “... and I didn't say anything, because I was trying so hard to get on the frosh/soph football team and I didn't want to get in trouble for fighting.”

He held his hands together, letting his arms sink between his knees shamefully. When their dad was called to pick him up he'd pitched the loudest fit over Ivan, all but demanding the alpha be expelled. A week's suspension was all that was given, and to this day Arthur would complain about it. Alfred had promised himself to never mention what really happened, lest _he_ be the one on the receiving end of his dad's wrath.

Matthew shook his head, disappointed. “That's kind of fucked, Alfie. You should feel bad.”

“I do feel bad.” He rolled his eyes, trying not to look his brother in the face. Didn't really need the shame game right now.

Despite hearing the ugly truth that his brother was the real bully, Matt wasn't wholly convinced. Whatever happened Freshman year of high school, that didn't excuse Ivan _literally hitting him_. “Even then... Al, I saw your bruises. That's _fucked up._”

Alfred shrugged, and Matthew turned to face him a little more. “Alfie, I'm serious. You shouldn't be with someone who does that to you.”

Matthew was pleading, his voice quiet and concerned. Alfred raised his brows, finally starting to catch on to what his brother was implying. “Wait... you think he's hitting me?”

The silence paired with an uneasy look from his brother was all the confirmation he needed. Alfred couldn't help it—he burst out into laughter, much to his brother's confusion and dismay.

“Okay, Mattie, that is NOT it and just for the record, I could totally beat his ass if he tried. Do you think I can't beat his ass, Matt?”

The older twin stared in pure confusion. He shook his head slowly. “Well... no.” And for what it's worth, he was telling the truth.

“Thank you.” Alfred sat up straight, poised and happy that his dominance was not being underestimated. His brother still wasn't sold.

“But you still have bruises, Al.” Matt pointed out. “Quite a few of them, actually.”

“Wellllll...” He spoke coyly, “Let's just say the back seat of a Honda Civic doesn't have _that_ much room for, uh, activities. And you know I bruise like a peach.”

He gave a little wink, and Matthew stared forward, world shook and mildly disgusted. “Oh my god... why didn't you say anything?”

“Maybe I didn't want to tell you about my weird hookups in the back of a car!”

His brother was trying so hard to find some way to justify his assumptions. Some way to hold onto his convictions. “And what about your neck, huh? You can't tell me those were just hickies.”

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly. “Don't knock hate sex until you try it.”

Matthew gasped, looking away. “OH my GOD.”

Al had no response after that. He just milly rocked in place where he was seated on the log.

After taking a moment to gather his bearings after just hearing the most disgusting and horrible sentence of his life, Matthew looked over at his brother. Alfred stopped his dancing as he looked his twin in the eye.

“Al... what really happened after junior prom? We never really talked about it.”

The younger boy sighed, staring down at the grass. Another thing he'd conveniently managed to not tell his brother. And, probably, the root of why he distrusted Ivan so much.

“Well... after the dance, I went to an after party with Ludwig. And I tried to come onto him a little, but, y'know.” He didn't need to elaborate further, Matthew already knew all about that. Hell, the entire fucking school had heard about it. Alfred, a little tipsy and misreading signals left and right, had tried to kiss his prom date. His prom date, who stepped to the side to avoid the kiss and let Alfred fall past him. _Embarrassing._

“I was _so_ humiliated, Mattie.” Al let out a shaky breath as he recalled that awful night. He was mighty good at letting things go and not sweating the petty things, but he really, really wished he could just block that memory out entirely. “I got upset and ended up drinking, like, a lot that night. I know, not the best idea, but I did. And then I stepped outside to get some air and ran into Ivan.”

“So, anyways, I wasn't... y'know, in the best state of mind, and I guess I tried to take it out on him. I was drunk, I was mad, sad, whatever, I just wanted to let it out on someone. So I did. And he didn't stop me. He just kind of... I don't know, let me get it out. I think he understood.”

“I don't remember a whole lot after that, I just remember getting real sick outside and I think I fell asleep. And then he took me home. He could have just left me there in the grass but he took me home.”

Matthew remembered that. He'd been at home, sleeping peacefully, when his phone went off at 3 in the goddamn morning. An unknown number. He ignored it, but a text followed right after. Somehow, Ivan had gotten his number and requested he come outside, saying his brother needed help. So, of course, Matthew came out to help. No explanation was given at the time, Ivan just helped get a passed-out Alfred out of his car and into Matthew's arms to take him inside.

At the time, Matthew was horrified, and could only imagine what the hell this guy had done to his brother. He didn't trust him, not one bit. And Alfred had never really wanted to talk about the afterparty, simply insisting that everything was fine.

All this time Matt had been stuck believing the absolute worst, because his brother was too chickenshit to just tell him the truth.

“... Why didn't you tell me?” Matthew finally asked, voice quiet. He and Alfred told each other everything. There were no secrets between them, but lately, things had been different.

“Because,” Alfred shifted slightly to look at his brother, hoping he wouldn't get upset. “you can be a little judgey sometimes, Mattie.”

“What? No I'm not!”

“Yeah you are! You're judging me right now!”

“Okay, yeah, just a little. But only because you lied to me.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, but Matt nudged his shoulder with his own to get him to look back over at him. “You're my brother. I just worry, that's all.”

“Psh, okay, Dad.”

“Don't.” Matthew laughed. “No more lying to each other, okay? Things are changing a lot and it's kind of weird, you know? I need you.”

“Deal.” Alfred never enjoyed hiding the truth from his brother. They were inseparable, they always had been. You didn't get one without the other.

Maybe that was why Matthew's decision to wear a different costume hit him so hard. They were growing up, graduating this year, and sooner or later they'd move onto their own lives. And he didn't know when that would be, or how he was going to handle it. It scared him a little. “I need you, too. We're always gonna be together, right?”

Matt smiled that simple, calming smile that always made you feel better. In the sober part of his mind, he knew that life would take them apart. There was no way he could keep on like this, just existing under his brother's shadow. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but he'd been making some of his own plans for after graduation.

No more lying? That lasted all of ten seconds before Matthew responded. “Of course. I can't think of anyone I'd rather do life with than you.”

Thank _god. _Being alone was terrifying, and Al wasn't ready to go it by himself without Matt by his side. Not yet. He threw his arms around his brother's shoulders, holding on more for his own sake than anything. They were brothers—together until the end, no matter what life threw at them. It seemed to be throwing more and more curveballs as of late, but they'd get through it. Together. Just like they always had.

Matthew was just as relieved to get this all out in the open. Well, for the most part, anyways. The rest of those bridges they could surely cross later, in a more sober state of mind. He held onto his brother, slumping against him as he remembered oh yeah that's right, he was high as _shit_. “Oh, hey... I think you're going to have to drive us home tonight. I'm baked out of my mind right now.”

Alfred raised a brow as his brother reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled up edible wrapper. He took it, flattening it with his thumbs to read as Matthew leaned on his shoulder.

“Mattie holy shit!” Alfred gasped, laughing out loud. “This is 75mg shit right here dude!”

“I only had half!” The older twin tried to defend himself, but then burst out into giggles a moment later. “But yeah. I absolutely cannot drive right now. I am fucked.”

“Aww bro.” Al put his shoulder to Matt's and they leaned against each other. “Of course I'll drive.”

“Thanks Alfie.” Matt chuckled, slumped against his brother's shoulder. They maybe didn't see eye to eye all the time, but they sure were damn lucky to have each other.

* * *

When they got home, the twins found their dad exactly as they expected to: still a little drunk, pretending to be Sherlock Holmes, and clearing up the leftover popcorn and candy wrapper mess in the kitchen. Francis had stayed just long enough to see the boys get home, so he could coo over them in their Halloween costumes. Or, well, coo over Matthew, anyways. Alfred had hidden the alcohol-drenched suit and top hat in the trunk of the car to try and wash later, and instead smeared ketchup on his face to try and pass himself off as a “zombie football player.” God he wished he could have shown Babe-braham Lincoln to Papa. He would have appreciated it.

It was late, and after giving his boys plenty of affectionate cheek kisses and snapping the required selfies, Francis took off. Tomorrow was still Friday, after all. Alfred was covering for high-as-a-kite Matthew this time, so he pressed for some quick goodbyes. He had a game tomorrow, had to get plenty of sleep, right? No one disagreed, and he directed his brother up the stairs to get him to his bed.

Once the older twin was flopped satisfactorily into his bed, nestling into his sherpa throw comforter like he was fixing to melt right into it, Alfred crossed the hallway to his bedroom. The one place he wanted to be after this absolute hell of a night. Things were changing so quickly lately. Hell, just up until a month ago, they hadn't even had a father. Alfred was going to need a lot of time and a lot of emotional support Big Macs to think about all of this.

Instead, he got a toy bat right in his face as he pushed open his bedroom door.

The sound of his scream could have woken the neighbors up three blocks down the road. Arthur even jumped near out of his skin downstairs, sudsy dishes in his hands. The omega teenager grabbed ahold of his assailant. A goofy-eyed plastic bat with terrible paint and a piece of string tied around its midsection. His dad's answer to the whoopie cushion under the toilet seat this morning. Slowly he began to break into laughter that carried down the hallway and made his omega parent downstairs smile fondly.

Things were changing faster than he was prepared for, but he was thankful that some things still stayed the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote between Lars and Matthew is a reference to the Canadian TV show Letterkenny, for those that didn't catch it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the major delay in updating lately. Things have been wild due to the virus, as I'm sure everyone is aware.  
Hopefully this chapter makes someone smile. I think we all need it right now!

**November 1st, 2019. Friday night.**

It was early evening on a Friday night, and Arthur was waiting for his boys' father to arrive so they could go to Alfred's football game together. November brought colder weather—colder every single week, it seemed—perfect for a warm dish drizzled with parsley sauce. He'd decided to throw something together for the two of them, as a surprise. Better to enjoy a nice, homemade dinner at home than lukewarm plastic concession stand nachos, right?

His wooden spoon moved the buttery sauce ever so delicately around the pan, letting it simmer gently and reduce to a silky smooth reduction. _Flawless_. The chicken it would be served over was finishing up in the oven along with a pan of vegetables roasted just until caramelized perfection. Oh yes, he'd really outdone himself on this one.

The knock came at the door just as he removed the pans from the oven and shut the door. His movements across the floor were elegant, the perfect rendition of a 50's homemaker in an educational video going to greet their dinner guests. And when he opened the door to see Francis standing there, tall and handsome, he couldn't deny the bounce of butterflies he felt in his stomach.

“Come on in,” He welcomed, stepping to the side so his guest could enter. “You came at the perfect time, dinner is just finished.”

Francis shut the door behind himself as he sniffed the air. “It smells heavenly. What did you make?”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder as he walked back to the stove. “Chicken, and some roasted vegetables. Parsley sauce to go over the top. Just a little something.”

The alpha moved behind him with an undetected grace and poise. He leaned forward, just over Arthur's shoulder, taking in the aroma of the food. “Oh, _tres delicieux_. Your cooking is impeccable.”

“Oh please.” Arthur shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“Mmm.” Francis' hands made their way to his hips, and Arthur could feel the warmth of his body pressed up behind him. His stubble brushed against his neck as he leaned in further. “But there's something else I think might be even more satisfying.”

“Oh?” Arthur turned his head, cheek pressed to Francis' stubbly cheek. He was playing coy—there was no way he didn't know what the alpha wanted. “And what is that?”

“_Vous_.”

Francis' hands grabbed a hold of his shoulders, flipping him around to face him. In one swift movement he reached down and hefted Arthur onto the counter, shamelessly knocking aside all of the spices and ingredients left on the counter. They could be worried about later. Arthur gasped, but no words were necessary as their lips found each other. The heat between them was undeniable, unbridled.

Everything moved so quickly. Arthur buried his hands in Francis' silky, wavy hair, arching his back as the alpha ran his hands up and down his body. The omega let out a shameless whine as their kiss broke, Francis leaning forward with his entire body to nibble and lick at his neck. His hands trailed down, fingers digging into Arthur's thighs as he moved them upwards. The palm of his hand found it's place on Arthur's ass, delivering a good, solid grope on his cheek. _Oh_. Arthur moaned out loud, grabbing the back of Francis' neck and throwing his head back, colliding right with the hard wood cabinets behind him.

_ **BONK.** _

Arthur shot up in bed, sweaty and panting. A sharp pain dulled the back of his head—he'd no doubt tossed hard enough to hit it against the headrest. He rubbed his sore cranium, cursing the fact that he still had a hardwood bed frame and only one pillow, until he stopped.

_What the fuck was he dreaming about?_

Immediately, he dove to grab his daily pillbox from the side of the bed. Shit, shit, _shit_, he couldn't have forgotten to take his heat suppressants, could he? No way, he was on top of these like a sergeant, and with next week's meetings and plans there was no way he could afford to have a heat interrupt it all. He was relieved to see that he'd indeed taken his heat pills as scheduled, and as he started to catch his breath, it became clear that this was no pre-heat stupor.

So then what was it?

Was he really having sex dreams about _Francis Bonnefoy_ now?

The realization hit him like a freight train. He groaned and smacked the nearly-empty pill case against his temple as he fell back down onto the bed. He collided with the headboard again with a solid _thunk_ and he yelped, grabbing his head.

Today was going to be _so_ fucked.

* * *

Undeterred by a steamy sex dream, Arthur maintained his plans to make dinner for the two of them that night before heading out to Alfred's game. He'd come home from work and jumped straight into making the delicious sauce, fresh ingredients and determination at the ready. If dream him could make the perfect dinner, so could real him, right?

Wrong.

The sauce evolved from delicate smoothness to scorched mess faster than Arthur could notice and remove it from the heat. Similarly, the vegetables in the oven far overshot the “caramelized perfection” mark. The only saving grace was the chicken—not burnt, but still overly dry as a result of the paranoia of undercooking poultry. He was in the midst of desperately trying to beat smoothness into the burned sauce when the knock came at the door.

Francis had to be here to pick him up. Dejected, he gave up on the sauce and turned to go open the door. And stubbed his toe on a chair on the way over. Francis knocked again as he was grabbing his foot in pain, and he growled as he made his way over to the door. “Calm down! I'm coming!”

When he made it to the door he threw it open, letting Francis bear witness to the awful mess that awaited him inside. The Frenchman seemed happy to see him at first, but his face dropped as he noticed the agitated scowl on Arthur's face. He crinkled his nose when he got a whiff of the burned food smell slowly drifting from the kitchen.

“Are things on fire?”

“No, I was making dinner.”

“Are you sure nothing's on fire?”

“Yes! God—just—come in.” He huffed and turned to stomp back to the stove with his newly acquired limp, allowing Francis to let himself in. The alpha stepped inside, briefly acknowledging the fluffy white dog as per Matthew's insistence, and then peered over at the stove. It looked like there was some sort of attempt at a dinner being made, but all he could see was disaster.

Arthur was stubborn, however, and was going to eat this food like he'd meant to prepare it this way. As he reached up into the cupboards to pull down some plates, Francis inspected the food. He poked gently at the sauce with the wooden stirrer and pressed a fork to the chicken.

“It's burnt.” He noted as the omega stomped up beside him, setting a plate down. Serve yourself, the motion said.

“Keen observation.” Arthur huffed, taking a serving of the chicken. Francis bit his tongue. This was going to be awful, but it wouldn't kill him to force down a burned dinner for once. Hopefully not, anyways. He went to move behind Arthur to the vegetables, and put his hand on his shoulder to gently motion for him to move to the side.

He was expecting Arthur to move—maybe flinch at the touch, maybe give him a dirty look, as per usual—but he was not expecting the omega to jerk violently away from him, so quickly that the serving spoon he was using to scoop sauce out of the pan clattered to the floor. Francis himself jumped to the side to avoid a splatter of sauce on his pants, and stared at Arthur with confusion. What the hell?

The omega took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. He was getting way too into his head on this. “Sorry.” He apologized, picking up the spoon from the floor. “I must have gotten flustered by all this cooking.”

Francis just stared at him before slowly grabbing a paper towel from the rack and kneeling down to wipe up the spilled sauce. He wasn't expecting the same level of affection that they shared last night during Halloween, but he sure wasn't expecting him to recoil so harshly from a simple shoulder touch. Something was off about Arthur. “That's alright. If you'd like, we can stop somewhere on the way. We do have some time.”

“No, no, no.” Arthur was shaking his head as he washed the spoon under the sink. “I made it, we _will_ eat it. No sense in the ingredients going to waste.”

Ingredients burned past the point of decent flavor were already wasted in Francis' mind, but he decided not to press it. He simply relegated himself to the fact that he'd be eating some well done food tonight, like it or not. Arthur, on the other hand, was determined to slam down these crusty veggies with rapid pace. Francis didn't even notice himself staring until the omega caught his eyes, swallowed them down, and snapped at him: “Take a photo, it'll last longer.”

Francis rolled his eyes. Great. “Only if you put on that nice little costume from last night. I liked that.”

Arthur set his fork down, crinkling his nose in disgust. Francis winked at him. He glared in response as he stabbed a carrot with demonstrable violence.

Dinner crept by with fairly minimal conversation between the two. Riding on the success of last night's Halloween hangout, Francis was eager to talk, but Arthur only offered up curt responses. The drive to the school wasn't much better. He sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, not saying a word. As they arrived and Arthur flatly ignored Francis' attempts to open the car door for him, he accepted that, whatever they'd had the night before, things had gone back to normal. The mildly personable, happy cloud over Arthur had lifted. He was stuck with regular old grouchy brows once more.

And if Francis was any other person, he'd probably have just left it at that and let Arthur be the huffy little prick he wanted to be. But just last night they were on the couch with each other, leaning on shoulders and sharing laughs and emotions deeper than he'd shared with his own parents. He could have sworn they'd had a breakthrough. Hadn't they? Something had to have happened, and he wanted to find out what it was.

And there was the other issue of his own stupid, obnoxious emotions. A nagging voice inside him was screaming: _do something_. Something to make him happy. Make him feel better. This had to be those same stupid hormones that led him to kiss the top of his head last night. Ridiculous how even in the 21st century they hadn't evolved past these animalistic urges.

They stepped up into the bleachers, old metal squeaking under their feet. In the corner of the field a small building shone against the setting sun. The concession stand was open, just as expected. _Perfect. _He quickly excused himself and took off to get a treat. Just a little something to lighten the mood, cheer Arthur up a little bit.

Back on the bleachers, Arthur sat alone, pulling his coat tightly around himself. It felt... bizarre being back here. Even when Alfred first began playing football and he came to every game, it never stopped feeling weird. This was the same school he'd gone to, and the same football field he'd visited countless times with his own friends on Friday nights. There were teenagers taking selfies in the bleachers. Standing around in groups laughing and making jokes. Hiding under the bleachers sneaking cigarettes before teachers could catch them. It almost didn't feel real to know that once upon a time, he'd been there, too.

Looking at all the happy faces made him uneasy. The last time he was able to set foot outside with any inkling of that youthful innocence was his junior year. That was the year everything changed for him. He wondered how many of the omegas laughing and smiling around him would have to make that same decision he did.

Lost in his own thoughts, Arthur didn't even realize when Francis returned until a big, pink, fluffy pile of spun candy was held out in front of him. He scooted back, confused, looking at the Frenchman beside him. He had an easy smile on his face. Kindness. A strange juxtaposition to the painful thoughts circulating in his brain.

“Papa's beard?” He offered. Arthur crinkled his nose, tilting his head to the side.

“I'm... sorry?” First thought, no, he did not want the alpha's beard anywhere near him. Even if his steamy dream suggested otherwise.

Francis held out the candy once more. “Papa's beard. Would you like some?”

Arthur stared at him, blank-faced. “... You mean candy floss?”

“No, I mean papa's beard.”

They both stared at each other, determined to take their stands on what to call it, until Francis broke and cracked a smile. Arthur finally let out a snort and accepted the fluffy treat, eyeing it with a confused face. He hadn't had candy floss since he was a child. The alpha beside him reached over and pinched a bit off the end, giving him a wink as he popped it in his mouth. Arthur rolled his eyes and picked off his own piece. He put it on his tongue, letting it dissolve.

Oh, _god._

Both adults pulled disgusted faces, cringing at the cloyingly sweet candy. Truly, this was a treat only a sugar-hyped child could enjoy. And possibly Alfred.

The two made eye contact, and Arthur couldn't help but laugh softly at seeing Francis' tight, scrunched up face. The alpha coughed and shook his head. “Sorry. I guess I let nostalgia get the best of me.”

“It's alright.” Arthur chuckled, staring down at the fluffy candy in his hands. The mark of adulthood: being hyper sensitive to sugar. Oh, he was getting old. “It was a kind gesture.”

Francis smiled, and then a little child on the bleacher seats below them caught his eye. She was turned around, watching the two of them eat the candy. Or, well, maybe just watching the candy. Francis nudged Arthur's side and nodded towards the girl, who clutched her pink princess dress as she stared.

The Brit caught attention of her and turned back around to give Francis a smirk. And as he turned back, he straightened up, prim and proper. And he spoke in a way to clearly direct his voice in her direction. “Why, I had no idea we were in the presence of royalty, Francis.”

The little girl pursed her lips proudly and buried her tiny fists in her pink dress. Arthur couldn't help but smile. She was adorable, with those same bright blue eyes and chubby little cheeks that Alfred used to have. Her little eyes kept drifting to that candy he was holding, and he got an idea.

“Gosh, I don't believe I can eat all of this candy floss.” He began, his tone of voice playful and directed at the little girl who was not-so-subtly eavesdropping. When he looked back to the other side he caught the child staring at him again, and he turned to face her. “Would you like the rest, Your Highness? It would be my honor.”

Her little eyes lit up and she whipped around to look at her parents for approval. They'd been watching with amusement, and gave Arthur a nod. With the proper parental acceptance out of the way, he leaned down and handed the fluffy candy to her. She took it with wide, excited eyes.

“What do we say?” Her alpha parent reminded.

“Thank you.” She was so caught up in the excitement of candy that she'd forgotten her manners.

Arthur smiled, giving his head a small bow. “You're welcome. Anything for Her Royal Highness, Princess of... ?” He left the sentence open, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

“Unicorns.” She spoke proudly.

“_Unicorns_.” Arthur repeated, turning to look at Francis. “Her Royal Highness, Princess of Unicorns.”

Francis was stifling his laughter as he watched the two of them interact. When the girl happily turned back forward, enjoying her sweet prize, Arthur sat back up and grinned at the alpha. It was rare to see such a genuine, wide smile on those lips. The sight of it made Francis' heart flutter.

For as prickly and as stubborn as the Brit was, he also had a sweet side to him. It was expertly hidden beneath his stiff exterior, but it was there. He could only imagine what it would be like if he got to experience it himself. One day. Maybe.

Shortly afterward, a student announcer came over the speakers, directing attention to the field. The visiting team was already out, but the real focus was the home team. The bleachers filled with cheers as they began to run out onto the field, waving to their friends and families in the stands. As quarterback, Alfred was front and center, waving his arms with that big, dashing, Hollywood smile of his.

The sight of it made Francis' heart swell. He glanced over at Arthur to make sure he was seeing it. The Brit's eyes were on the field, watching Alfred, a look of pure love and pride on his face. The two of them had their differences, yes, but he would never stop being proud of what an amazing young man the boy was growing into. And though Francis hadn't had the joy of getting to watch him grow up, he felt the same way. The boys were amazing, and he was so lucky he got to be their father, if only for a little while.

When he finally felt Francis' stare on his face, Arthur glanced over at him. Their eyes met and god, it was like magic. The setting sun hit the omega's eyes in just the right way to make them shine, flecks of gold dazzling against the deep, emerald green. It took him back to that night at the party, when the patio light glinted off those gorgeous green eyes, when they fluttered open after their kiss on the bathroom floor, and when the flushed red of his cheeks made them look like burning gems in the moonlight. “What?” He asked, a breathy chuckle escaping past his lips.

Francis' heart thumped. He was uncharacteristically lost for words_. _"Uh, nothing.”

“Hm.” Arthur humphed, looking back to the field and hoping the blush on his cheeks wasn't _too_ pronounced. “The game is down there, Francis.”

“Right.” The Frenchman smirked, turning his attention back to their son on the field. Guess it wasn't just Arthur who was out of sorts. Perhaps tonight would end better than it started.

* * *

The game, unfortunately, was not going well.

Halftime was wrapping up and the teams were returning to the turf to finish out the rest of the game. Old United was up by two touchdowns, and the home team had to turn this around if they wanted to secure the win. Alfred and his team had come up with a solid play, now they just had to execute it.

The third quarter began. Alfred passed the ball to his teammate. As they took off, trying to avoid getting tackled down into the grass, he glanced at the bleachers on the home side. They weren't public, him and Ivan, but something about shooting a little eye contact his way when he was in the middle of a game just... made him swoon. It always gave him a confidence boost and pushed him that much harder. And boy did he really need a boost right now. He briefly scanned the seats where his not-quite-lover would sit, and paused when he saw his parents instead.

He paused so long that he didn't even notice the opposing player coming up right beside him until he was full bodied straight down into the grass.

Both parents cringed as they watched their boy get pummeled into the ground by a figure bigger than he was, but eased their tensions when he popped right back up, unharmed. Arthur had seen the boy take some gnarly hits before, but thankfully that wasn't one of them. Francis waved, getting a tiny nod from Alfred in return. He excitedly pointed at the field.

“Look! A nod!” Arthur couldn't help but laugh at the excitement Francis showed at a meager amount of acknowledgment. That was just how it went with teenagers.

“He looked at me like I've got two heads.” The omega chuckled, crossing his arms tightly to conserve some body warmth. “Forgot to tell him I'd be here tonight. Oops.”

They both glanced at each other and laughed. Francis let out a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders. “It's kind of nice being back here, isn't it?”

“Hm? Are you accusing me of being an absent parent?” Arthur quipped, teasing.

“No, no. I mean the school.” They'd gone to different high schools, but Friday night football games were the social event here in Midwestern USA. He'd spent a fair amount of time at these events, more to hang out with friends and kiss omegas under the bleachers than to actually watch the team. The bright lights, the cheering, and the youthfulness of the teens laughing and taking selfies together really brought him back. “Didn't you ever go to football games in high school?”

Ah. Arthur's face dropped, though he tried not to show it. He shrugged. “A few times, yes.”

Francis noticed the change in his disposition. He was briefly puzzled, wondering what he'd said to upset the Brit, and then it struck him. His and Arthur's teenage years took drastically different paths, all after that one night in November. Their nostalgia came in two separate frames: Francis wistfully missing the naive nature of childhood, and Arthur being reminded of everything he had to give up to raise the boys.

The alpha leaned back, palms on the bench to keep from leaning backward. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean...”

“No, it's alright. You had no idea.” Arthur muttered, his eyes averted. All that giddy happiness had faded away.

There it was again, that desire to comfort, to make things right. Francis looked down, debating if he wanted to try, but his gut urged him to do something. So, cautiously, he reached up and set his hand on Arthur's shoulder. A comforting hand, rubbing his shoulder gently to try and offer some sort of consolation. The omega just looked at the hand on his shoulder, smiled sadly, and reached up to remove it off of himself.

“It's not your fault, not at all. But being back here just reminds me of everything I had to give up. Or, well, everything I chose to give up.” He sighed, looking back at the field. The team was lining up for another play, with the band belting out a song to cheer them on. “I had to start working, start thinking about the boys, what I was going to do. I never even walked at graduation. After that night high school stopped being fun for me, it was just something I had to get through.”

Arthur let out the breath he was holding in his chest, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. It was like overnight how his life had changed so suddenly. Part of him had always wondered what it'd be like if he'd told Francis. If they'd tried to stay together, forging a small and wildly unprepared little family. But he was tired, constantly worried, and _stressed._ No way he could have inflicted this on Francis, too.

Arthur laughed a sad, cynical laugh. “And here I am. With a job, bills, kids, all that to worry about now.”

Francis had his eye on the field, but he was thinking about what Arthur just said, and his erratic change in behavior lately. Alfred had passed the ball successfully and his teammate was taking it down the field to the end zone. The bleachers around them began to erupt in cheers, but Francis just turned to look at Arthur. He was starting to understand the things the Brit didn't want to say. “When's the last time you stopped worrying about something?”

Arthur paused. He wanted to say of course he didn't worry, he was fine. But even now, he was worrying about Alfred not getting his head kicked in on the field. About how early he was going to have to go back into the office tomorrow to get things finished for deadline. About that dream he'd had last night, and what it really meant to him.

He took a deep breath, staring at the ground. Truthfully, he didn't have an answer.

The words unsaid spoke clearly. Suddenly it made sense, why Arthur was so skittish, jumping at the slightest touch. Doing all he could to keep Francis at arm's length. The alpha let out a breath. “You know I'm not going to hurt you. This is bigger than just the two of us.” He nodded towards the field, towards Alfred, to make his point.

A small smile crept onto Arthur's lips. How many times had he heard that before? Dating hadn't exactly been easy as a single parent. After the last break up he'd sworn off it, at least until the boys were out of the house. He couldn't take another dressing down from Alfred about, and he quoted, the “revolving door of alphas” he was turning their house into.

But Francis wasn't just another alpha. He was their father. The stakes were higher, and he couldn't afford to play fast and loose with their relationship if he wanted to still talk to his children. “If things didn't work out between us the boys would _never_ forgive me.”

His voice was sad and regretful. Francis just leaned in, ignoring the raucous sounds of the crowd around them. “I mean it. You don't have to worry about me.”

Oh, that was rich. Something Arthur _didn't _have to worry about. He shook his head as he let out a nervous chuckle. “Please. You say that like it's easy. There's always something, there always has been something, and it's not like I can shut it off. If it's not Alfred I'm worrying about, it's Matthew. If not Matthew, then Alfred. And if not them, then work.”

“Last night you did.”

Arthur suddenly remembered how close they got, sitting on the couch leaned against each other. How comfortable he felt in that moment. His cheeks turned red. “I was drunk, that's different.”

“Well,” Francis smiled. “It is in you. Somewhere.”

The omega crossed his arms and turned away, focusing intently on the players below. Anything to avoid looking at that kind, genuine smile on Francis' face. The alpha leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.

“Can you try? Be a little irresponsible, just for a night?”

Arthur remained with his arms crossed, wondering if he could even manage to do that. He hadn't been irresponsible in a long time. The thought of it made his inner punk he'd stashed away years ago awaken. He smirked slightly.

“Okay.” He nodded. “I'll try.”

“Great.” Francis was thrilled. He wanted to put his arm around Arthur's shoulders, give him a peck on the top of his head, but he refrained. Baby steps. “Because we've got a son that needs cheering on down there.”

“Mm.” Arthur racked his brain, and the alpha beside him nodded in understanding. After seeing his panic at Matthew's hockey match, he understood his hesitance completely.

“If things get too rough, you can close your eyes. I'll narrate for you.” He started to offer, but the omega whipped his head around.

“No, no, I don't worry about _that_.” He chuckled. His boys were tough, and yes he was probably wrong to assume Alfred was in any way tougher than Matthew. But he wasn't half as concerned about the younger twin's safety out on the football field as he was about the other on the ice rink. “They're playing against Old United High School—they're the _worst_ in their league. And you see them out there, they're getting pummeled! They have to win. If they don't, well, Alfred is going to get depressed, then he'll stress eat McDonalds until he's sick, then he'll be upset because he's sick, it's a whole cycle.”

Francis just stared at him. Arthur shrugged. “What? I do pay attention, you know.”

Fair enough. Francis looked over at the field, got an idea, and turned back to Arthur. “Want to stand up and cheer for him?”

The Brit laughed. A solid, genuine laugh. “Oh, he's going to be so embarrassed if we do that.”

Francis raised his brows. “... Want to be embarrassing parents?”

Now that was a suggestion he could get behind. “Yes. Absolutely.”

* * *

The game concluded with a last-minute, thrilling victory for the home team. As the players finally relaxed, the field flooded with friends and family wishing to offer congratulations. Alfred immediately got wrapped into a bear hug by his teammates, only to be followed up by a hug from Francis as soon as he was freed.

“Papa!” He laughed, throwing his sweaty arms around his alpha father. His hug was stronger than anticipated, and Francis could have sworn he felt his ribs creak. “You came! You and... Dad, too?”

“Surprised to see me?” Arthur chuckled as the boy finally released his father. The alpha rubbed his ribs but tried not to let it show on his face too much.

“I wanted to come and watch you play, and thought it might be nice if both of us come along.” Francis explained. Arthur stood beside him, arms crossed, and smiling with pride.

“The way you turned that game around was incredible.” Arthur complimented, giving a tiny little golf clap. “Bravo.”

“Wow, okay.” Alfred chuckled, out of breath. For years he'd been the only one on the field not greeted by proud parents after the game. He'd gotten used to celebrating with friends, and then sneaking off to the locker room before anyone could realize he'd left. But now, here they were. His dad, and the father he didn't even think he'd ever have.

He bit his lip so they couldn't see it wobble, and rushed forward to grab both his parents up in a giant, crushing hug. After the mental stress of the game, and the hellish Halloween night he'd had, a hug was just what he needed right now. Both parents grimaced at the sheer strength, but patted their son's shoulders affectionately.

They were a small, broken little family. But little by little, they were healing.

It was Arthur who finally pushed himself away from the hug, and Francis was grateful to be able to breathe once more. The omega patted his son's arm, an idea on his mind. “Why don't we go out for ice cream? To celebrate that smashing win.”

“What? Really?” The mere mention of ice cream lit up Alfred's eyes. Dad _never_ suggested they get ice cream. “Serious?”

“Of course.” The omega parent looked between his son and Francis, smiling. An ice cream date with the family was the perfect way to end the night. “Text your brother, we can pick him up on the way.”

“YES! Score!” Alfred pumped his fists in the air as he stepped back. “I'm gonna go get out these nasty clothes, but I can't WAIT. There's a turtle milkshake calling my name!”

“Alright.” Arthur chuckled. “Meet us at the front gate when you're done.”

“You got it pops!” The teen turned to jog off towards the locker rooms, only slowing when he caught sight of a familiar set of lavender eyes on the sidelines. Ivan was standing off to the side of the bleachers, watching him. He'd shown up after all, expertly keeping himself hidden to avoid drawing attention to himself. But his brow was furrowed, confused. No doubt he'd seen Alfred greet his parents after the game, instead of sneaking underneath the bleachers to meet him after the crowds faded.

Alfred certainly wanted to, like they'd done after nearly every game since the season started. Not in a million years did he think he'd have to choose between his family and his boyf—his _friend._ But that was before his father walked into his life unexpectedly. He smiled, small and coy, and held up his hand to his ear in a phone motion. '_I'll call you,'_ he mouthed, promising the alpha that their secret rendezvous was not in jeopardy. Ivan held eye contact as the other walked across the field, a small, but by no means insignificant motion. He finally nodded in understanding and Alfred grinned, picking up his pace to jog back to the locker room. They'd pick things up after the ice cream date.

Despite how last night had ended and how things were changing, he wasn't about to give Ivan up for anything. Not his parents, not his brother, not Natalya and her overprotective bitch fits. Not even ice cream.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates as of late! Life has been a lot. Rest assured that I'm still committed to finishing this story and getting updates out quicker!
> 
> Please enjoy!

**November 28th, 2019. Thanksgiving Day.**

Ever since that fall evening when Arthur had confirmed that yes, the twin boys were indeed his, Francis had made it a point to come over as often as he could. After work, on the weekends, sometimes popping by in the morning if he was in the area. It was becoming a habit. A very comfortable, very cozy habit.

His family wasn't cold. They weren't uncaring. He'd never known insecurity in housing, and his parents had never made him feel unwelcome in any way. But coming to the Kirkland household felt different. Being here gave him a warm, comforting feeling that just made him feel right. Like he was supposed to be here. It felt like coming _home_.

As he shifted the car into park, he picked up his cell phone from the drink holder to scroll through the texts from his two best friends. Over the years they'd created a makeshift Thanksgiving get-together with each other, and this was the first year they'd all gone their separate ways. Antonio was going to spend the day with his new boyfriend (who Francis and Gilbert still had yet to even meet!) and Gilbert decided to pick up some overtime work at the station. No doubt he was spending a lot of that work time texting a certain recently-divorced omega he'd grown pretty fond of, but neither Toni nor Francis were going to rib him on that for now.

**[Hope you guys have a chill Thanksgiving]**

Gilbert's message came alongside a photo of the empty station, with a cold beer in the front of the frame. If he was going to be putting in some hours, he might as well make it his own.

**[I'll miss u guys! Lets meet up for drinks this weekend?]**

Francis couldn't help but smile at Toni's response. They'd been meeting up for drinks for nigh on ten years now. Some nights were laid back, just catching up with each other and sharing laughs back and forth. And some nights were wild. None of them were immune from taking home a stranger here and there, or getting too drunk and waking up in a stupor of regret the next day.

He didn't want to say they were growing apart. No, they were never growing apart. But maybe they were growing up. Nothing in Francis' being could deny that coming to see Arthur and the boys after work beat getting drunk at the downtown bars and stumbling home with Toni on his shoulder. And something told him that his best friends were starting to feel the same about their own relationships. Man, he couldn't wait until he could introduce them both to his boys.

**[Yeah, sounds great. Miss you both! :-* <3 <3 <3]**

He signed his text with his signature emojis and hearts before slipping his phone into his pocket. And, wrapping his hands around the bouquet sitting patiently in his passenger seat, he stepped out to go greet the other thing about the Kirkland household that he was becoming very, _very_ fond of.

The front door opened to reveal Arthur, wearing a warm khaki sweater vest that complimented his lovely green eyes. His expression was surprisingly kind, breaking into a small, reserved smile before seemingly remembering to compose himself. It was remarkable how seamlessly Arthur had cleaned up from crusty punk to middle-aged parent of two in the suburbs. And decidedly charming too, how he'd never quite given up that bite that had protected him throughout his teenage years. The flowers in Francis' hand caught his eye and he stared, puzzled.

“Francis? What are those?” He stepped to the side to let his guest in, pushing his back to the wall as the bouquet of fragrant flowers was held out in his direction.

“You've never seen a rose before?” Francis chuckled. “I wasn't sure what was appropriate for, uh... Thanksturkey Day, so I went with my usual.”

The omega furrowed his big, bushy brows as he looked at the red roses in front of him. Gingerly he reached out to take them as he shut the door. Somehow, he had a feeling that these flowers weren't just meant for Thanksturkey Day. “I'll set them on the table.” He offered, avoiding Francis' eyes. “The boys are just finishing up dinner.”

“Oh?” Hands in his pockets, Francis looked over to see his two precious boys flitting around in the kitchen. Matthew was lining up the side dishes, while Alfred sawed at a turkey like a lumberjack. The sight of it made his heart swell.

Arthur placed the flowers in a vase, poking at them gently to arrange them just so. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Francis watching him from where he was knelt on the ground, petting Kumajirou, and quickly stood back up straight. Suddenly conscious of his movements he pushed the vase into the center of the table, cheeks red. “Please, sit. They're almost done.”

“Hey Papa!” Both boys spoke in unison from the kitchen. Their faces were red and their hair a bit messy, the telltale signs of spending all morning and all day working in a hot kitchen. With breathy voices they assured him that he came JUST in time and they were ALMOST done, and then went back to plating up the food.

Arthur and Francis took their seats at opposite ends of the table, and before too long the boys began to bring out the feast. And a right proper feast it was. Francis' brows raised with every dish that was brought out, leaning forward to sniff each one, sigh happily, and sit back in his chair to watch the next one be set down. Finally, as the basket of rolls was set down in the center, the twins stood shoulder to shoulder and began to drum their hands on the edge of the table.

“Ladies and gentlemen...” Alfred began.

“We would like to formally welcome you tooooo......” Matthew finished.

They both drummed harder before standing up and waving their hands over the food proudly and announcing together. “The Kirkland Family Thanksturkey Day Dinner!”

Arthur, all too familiar with this, gave a small golf clap as the two twins bowed. Francis clapped harder, significantly impressed and ready to eat. The twins plopped down into their seats, and naturally Alfred was the first to dig in, reaching for the macaroni and cheese.

“Boys, this is impressive.” Francis complimented as the cheesy dish was passed his way. It was definitely homemade, nothing out of a box here. The smell of it told him that they'd really gone all out with the cheese, too. “You both made all of this?”

“Mhm.” Alfred nodded, now tossing a heaping serving of green bean casserole onto his plate. Matthew was divvying up the turkey, handing a piece off to his dad, who smiled proudly.

Francis couldn't wait. As soon as he got a roll in his hand he pinched off a piece and tasted it. _Heavenly._ “Oh. Oh this is amazing, boys.”

They both beamed. Yes, every year they put on this enormous dinner, as was tradition in this part of the world, but this year was important. The first year getting to share it with their Papa. The two of them made eye contact with each other, brimming with happiness that he was enjoying it. “Thanks!” They both chirped, elated with fatherly approval.

Arthur could see the looks on their faces and smiled to himself. Today was so important for both of them, for all of them really, and it made him feel at ease to see his boys so happy. If nothing else in life, he could be happy so long as they were happy. “Every year they do this. They never let me help.”

Alfred snorted, his mouth full of dinner roll already. “That's 'cause your cooking sucks balls, Dad.”

His omega parent feigned a gasp and pointed his fork in his son's direction. “Alfred, language! And my cooking is not bad. You used to eat it and love it.”

“Yeah, when I was, like, eight.” Alfred shrugged, mixing up his gravy into his mashed potatoes. It was always better mixed up into a mash.

Arthur tsked. “Please. Your father and I had dinner together here just a few weeks ago, and I thought it turned out fantastic! Right, Francis?”

If he was looking for some backup, he wasn't going to find it on the Frenchman's face. The alpha grimaced at the memory of the burnt, dry mess he had to force down last time Arthur made dinner, so hard he accidentally inhaled a stray bit of fried onion. His answer was only a choke and a cough as he dislodged it from his throat.

Arthur gasped in indignation and turned to his oldest son for reassurance. Loyal Matthew, who always had his back when he needed it. “Matthew, you always loved when I made breakfast, didn't you?”

The older twin was busy patting his father's shoulder affectionately as he hacked up the onion bit. When Arthur put him on the spot he paused uncomfortably. The look on his face showed that he was looking for an answer, and it definitely wasn't the one Arthur was hoping for.

“Well, uh...” Matthew racked his brain, trying to find the diplomatic response. “... You're really, really good at playing the guitar, at least.”

His poor dad was shattered. “Mutiny.” He huffed, stabbing at his green beans and pointing his fork at each son accusingly. “Mutiny and betrayal.”

The twins met eyes with each other over the table and laughed to themselves. Of course their dad wasn't truly upset. If this were any regular Thursday and Alfred was making his snide, bratty comments again then maybe he would be. But this was a holiday, albeit one Dad didn't really understand, and holidays were for togetherness. And thankfulness, or whatever the Pilgrims said.

Francis wiped his mouth with his napkin, smiling as he watched the three of them joke with each other. That warm, comfortable feeling rose in his chest once more, and he had a feeling it wasn't due to the turkey. This was his family now. His _family._ With a happy chuckle he tucked back into his food, thankful indeed.

* * *

The rest of the turkey dinner went by swimmingly. The food was delicious, the mood was upbeat, and they'd somehow gotten into stories of the twins' childhood. Arthur was living for this. He could talk all day and all night about the two of them and how they were growing up, much to the embarrassment of the two teenagers.

Currently, though, Alfred was trying to argue that he was taller than his brother.

“That's bull, you're not five-nine because I'M five-nine and I'm taller than you!” Alfred was determined to make his point, arms crossed.

“Uh no, we had to take our height at the start of our season just like you guys did, and I'm five-nine. If anything you're probably five-eight, you always were a bit shorter.” And Matthew was determined to not be steamrolled by his brother on this topic.

“Nuh uh!” Alfred exclaimed, and then turned to his dad for backup. “I've always been taller, right Dad?”

Arthur did not want to insert himself in the middle of this disagreement, but he couldn't lie to either of them. “No, you've always grown at the same rate. Exact nearly to the centimeter. But you were both such wee little things, even when you were young. Did certainly make it easier to hold you both.” The omega parent held up his hands apart as a vague reference. “About this long, the both of you, when you were born.”

“Ohh,” Francis cooed, picturing the two of them as such tiny little babies. “How precious.”

But the younger twin just gasped, his pride quashed. Truly he'd gone his whole life believing that he was taller than his brother. Matthew didn't seem too pleased either, similarly believing himself to be the taller of the two.

Their father on the other hand? He was beaming. “Please, tell me more about _mes petits choux_.”

“Of course.” Arthur could have picked a million embarrassing stories to tell about the two of them, but figured there was something a little more curious to mention. “Did you know there's an error on Matthew's birth certificate?”

“Really?” Came the response from all three at the table. Matthew was decidedly more alarmed, and leaned forward. “Wait, what? Are you serious, Dad?”

“Mhm.” His omega parent nodded, a gentle smile on his lips. “You were both born in the wee hours of the morning on the fourth. I suppose the nurse must have been exhausted, because they forgot to complete the number four on Matthew's certificate.”

“And you didn't catch it?” Alfred snorted, raising his brow.

“With those pain medications? I wasn't about to catch anything.” His dad laughed, but Matthew was silent in shock.

“Can we check it?” He piped up, scooting his seat back to stand up. His loyal dog followed behind him. “You had them out for our college applications, right? I can go grab them.”

Not that he needed any approval to do so—he was already up and walking up the stairs before he could finish his own sentence. A few minutes later he came back down, holding both of the dated pieces of paper in front of him, shock on his face and dog on his heels.

“Matt let me see!” Alfred leaped up to meet him at the bottom of the stairs and grabbed one of the papers to compare. His own mouth hung open in surprise.

“Well bring them over here, let us see.” Francis reminded them, and the two boys quickly returned to the table. Plates were moved to make room as the two of them laid their respective birth certificates on to the table to compare.

“Mine says July 4th.” Alfred pointed to the date on the paper bearing his name.

“But mine says the 1st.” Matthew was flabbergasted as he watched his brother point back and forth between the two dates on the papers.

Arthur expected them to be upset, but neither seemed too pressed about the situation other than the utter shock. “I'm sure we can get it changed--”

Francis, however, had taken an interest in something else on the papers. With a small, sad smile he pointed towards the bottom. In the place where the names and signatures of the parents were supposed to be, the section for their alpha parent was left blank. Arthur hadn't even put his name on the boys' birth certificates.

When he noticed what they were now looking at it, Arthur's face paled. It had been a struggle to decide whether to put his name on or not, but at the time, he was determined. He didn't want to drag the other into parenthood that he alone chose, and this was just another way to ensure it stayed that way. Not once did he ever think it'd come back to bite him.

“We _will_ get it changed.” The alpha spoke before Arthur could open his mouth. Francis was certain, and his tone of voice didn't leave room for debate. After the holiday they'd figure out how to go about fixing it, because by god he was going to have his name on there. He gave the omega sitting across the table a look to let him know he was serious, and Arthur just nodded, understanding.

And then he smiled, just a little bit, looking at the boys. They were still too fussed to pay any attention, but he could tell they were happy to hear that as well.

“I'm sure you'd also like to know,” Arthur spoke up, a mischievous smirk on his lips, “that Alfred was terrified of the Easter bunny until he was nine years old.”

“DAD.” Alfred gasped. That secret was going to go with him to his grave! His brother raised his brow at him and he quickly moved to defend himself. “It's not my fault that rabbit suit was HORRIFYING!”

The rest of them couldn't help but break into laughter, tensions eased. Even Alfred lightened up and cracked a smile.

* * *

Thanksturkey Day was not over yet. Dinner plates were cleared and, not nearly finished with the day's feast, Matthew and Alfred brought out dessert. A big, round cherry pie courtesy of Alfred, and a tray of decadent butter tarts put on by Matthew. The treats filled the air with a scent even more delicious than the feast they'd just put away, and a calm, relaxed silence took over the table as the four of them savored their sweets.

Sensing an opportune lull in the conversation, Matthew decided to speak up on something he'd wanted to say since the start of the feast. “The flowers you brought for Dad are really pretty, Papa.”

Both parents froze, making quick eye contact. Naturally, Arthur's first reaction was to deny it. “Oh no, those aren't for me, Matthew.”

“They aren't?” Francis asked with a mildly surprised tone. He met a frustrated glance from the omega across from him.

Suddenly, a lightbulb must have lit up in Alfred's head. Setting down his fork, he remembered something his dad had mentioned earlier on in the evening. “Wait, didn't you say y'all had dinner the other night? Was that a date?”

“I don't think you could call it that...” Arthur chuckled nervously. Francis furrowed his brows sadly, tilting his head.

“No?” He and Matthew spoke at the same time, and Arthur felt cornered. His son was watching him in concerned sadness, and his son's father was clearly just looking to get a rise out of him. If only Francis knew what he was doing.

“Francis,” Arthur pleaded, desperately grasping for control of the situation, “help me here.”

The Frenchman took a deep sigh, shrugging the topic away. Alfred's face was starting to show the same concern as his brother, and he could sense that Matthew's curiosity was far more serious than he realized. “As much as I hoped otherwise, no, it was not a date. Just dinner.”

Arthur was relieved. But beside him, Alfred let out a breathy laugh. “Woof, thank god. Dad seems like he'd be a nightmare to date.”

Before he could snap back, Francis spoke up, pointing his fork in his son's direction. “Alfred, be nice to your dad.”

Both parent and son froze. Alfred's mouth hung open in shock as he looked between them. “Oh my god you two _are_ dating.”

“No, no, no.” Arthur repeated in frustration. “No dating. None.”

“Shame.” Francis sighed, pushing his plate in front of him.

“Bloody hell.” Arthur grumbled, shaking his head.

Much to the omega's relief, the topic dropped after that. Alfred relegated to uncharacteristic silence with a nervous chuckle. It somewhat unsettled Arthur, but as long as he wasn't asking questions, he could live with it. Matthew, however, was less pacified. Again, sensing a lull in the conversation, the boy pressed the issue further. His voice was quiet, almost timid, as he carefully asked his burning question.

“... Did you ever want to?”

Arthur froze. He met Matthew's curious violet eyes without an answer, shocked that his son would be so bold. But, quiet and reserved as Matthew was, he didn't back down. He remained fixated on his dad's face, waiting for an answer. And though Arthur couldn't see, he could feel Alfred's eyes on him from the other side, waiting as well.

“I... I didn't even think about...” Arthur could only stammer, words eluding him. He wanted to deny it, like usual. He wanted to say no, that the charming French alpha had escaped his thoughts the moment he'd decided to cut ties. And really, it would be so much easier if that were the truth. Even in his most determined, most fiercely independent moments, Francis had always been in the back of his mind. Even when he was with someone else, he couldn't help but think of him. It was a curse that lingered over his head since they'd met, one that he'd tried and failed to run away from. He looked at the man sitting across from him, panicked face and all, expecting him to help. _Please, _he said wordlessly, _please don't do this right now._

Francis' face was tender, understanding. And hurt. He lowered his eyes, arms folded on the table, and stared at the remainder of the pie in front of him. Of course he'd thought about Arthur. He hadn't heard a word from him after that phone call, and several times he thought of reaching out just to make sure things were alright. To check on him, to talk to him, to see those beautiful green eyes in the patio light once more.

Their night together when they were teenagers had haunted his mind for years, and he couldn't bring himself to lie about it here with him, with his family sitting around. They all deserved to hear the truth.

“I thought about you.”

He looked up slowly, carefully after his confession, and the expression on Arthur's face could have broken his heart. The sudden revelation stung like a wasp in the Brit's chest, and a small noise escaped from the back of his throat. And then nothing. He dropped his gaze, no words available. All his life he tried to hide these silly little feelings, keep his chin up and maintain the stiff upper lip facade that protected him. And here he was. Vulnerable. God, why did they have to bring this up now?

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Not even Alfred had anything to say. Matthew noticed his brother staring hard at the table, his usually amicable gaze steeled over. It wasn't often to see Alfred truly upset, but he recognized that look.

Just as the older twin opened his mouth to address his brother, Alfred stood up suddenly. The chuckle he let out was one more of anxious frustration, than laughter. “Hey, uh, I'm gonna go for a walk. I'll be back in a bit to help clean up, Mattie.”

Before anyone could respond, Al had turned around and slipped out the front door, letting it slam shut behind him. Arthur let out a pained sigh, cringing as the door slammed. A tinge of regret bit at Matthew, but he brushed it aside. His brother may be on rockier terms with their dad as of late, but they'd always been close. They loved him, and they had always just wanted to see him smile.

He wanted what was best for their dad, he really did. And right now, he had a feeling that was Papa.

* * *

The sun began to set and the streetlights came on, and Arthur was just about to hop into his car to go search for Alfred when he finally returned. He muttered a quiet curse in relief when he looked out the window and saw the boy sitting on the porch. His instinctual response was to rush outside, scold his son, and tell him to come inside before it got too dark. But before he could make it to the front door, he stopped. Reconsidered. And then, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Francis and Matthew were still preoccupied with washing up the dishes, Arthur slipped up the stairs to fetch his guitar.

Outside, the blue-eyed teenager sat on the edge of the porch, legs stretched out into the flowerbed below. Texts to a particular alpha had gone unanswered, and he felt alone, frustrated. Despite the wildly successful Thanksturkey Day dinner with the family, he was still angry. Despite his brother's endless forgiveness for what their dad had done, he was still angry. Despite his father's loving reassurance that he wasn't going away anytime soon, he was still so _angry._

The front door creaked and he whipped his head around. His dad cautiously crept out, making as little noise as possible. Matthew and Francis didn't need to be in on this. Just the two of them, if Alfred would allow it, that is.

“May I sit?” He asked politely, and his son responded only with a stubborn shrug, staring off down the street at the newly-lit streetlights. There was so much he wanted to say, so much that he wanted to scream, but he bit his lip.

Arthur sat down beside him, propping up the guitar in his lap and fiddling with it to get it tuned just right. Having been sitting neglected in his room for a good while, it had fallen slightly out of tune. Much like his relationship with Alfred. When he was a kid, Al was practically attached to his hip. He was the boy's hero, and he promised himself he would never let that bond slip away.

And then, of course, the teenage years came.

It had been months now since the two of them had even had a solid conversation, and longer still since their conversations hadn't devolved into fights. As Arthur strummed his fingers over the strings, he knew that this wasn't going to be a pretty conversation, but one that had to happen. Like ripping a band aid off, they had to face each other and get the words out.

When Alfred still wasn't speaking, even though he looked like he was about to burst, Arthur decided to prompt him. With a sigh, he spoke up. “Alfred--”

“Why didn't you ever tell us about Papa?” The boy shot back before Arthur could get a sentence out. He was staring at his omega father, his bright blue eyes angry and sad at the same time. The Brit was taken aback, but simply shook his head, looking down at the flowers.

“I was afraid, Alfred. I thought I could do it on my own.”

“But what about us? Did you even think about what we would want?” Alfred snapped, voice quivering. A tiny gasp at the end of his sentence noted how desperately he was trying to hold it together, and how close he was to not.

Arthur bit his tongue so hard he thought it might bleed. He _did_ think about them, hell that's all he _could_ think about when they were growing up. But now wasn't the time to argue. Alfred wasn't done. His fingers kept plucking the strings as his son went on.

“That was the best Thanksturkey dinner we've had in a long ass time. We could have had that all these years and you didn't let us. You kept that from us, Dad.” Arthur stared at the ground, fingers moving deftly up and down the frets as Alfred's voice shook. Emotion never came easily to either of them, let alone the perpetually positive, upbeat teen. He felt his own chest tighten as his son came dangerously close to crying.

“Things are just, like... things are good, y'know?” Al sniffled, raising his arm to drag his wrist across his nose. Arthur would have scolded him otherwise, but a snotty shirt sleeve was the last of his concerns right now. His son hiccuped, tears welling in his eyes. “For a long time I almost didn't want to know who my father was, because, well... face it, you dated a lot of clowns, Dad. Like a _lot_ of real trashlords.”

“Hey now--” Arthur paused his strumming to try and defend himself, but got cut off.

“No Dad, your track record is not good. Total garbo. Sorry.” He chuckled a little bit, wiping his tears with his wrist as his dad simply nodded and went back to playing his guitar. They could argue about it until the sun came up, but deep in his heart Arthur knew his son was right. Somehow, some way, Art had a remarkable knack for picking the worst possible alphas to try and date over the years. And somehow, some miraculous way, he had a knack for fucking it all up each and every time.

Alfred stared at the flowers intently, like they had the answers. “I was scared he was one of those types of dudes. So I kind of thought, well, maybe it wouldn't suck to never meet him. But Papa isn't like that at all! He's great. He's caring, loving, supportive, and I'm--” His voice cracked, and he choked on a sob.

“I'm scared we're gonna lose him.”

Arthur's fingers paused over the strings. Ah, that was it. The omega parent stopped playing and gently reached a hand out to touch his son's shoulder. “Alfred, there's no need to worry about that. Your father loves you. He's never going to walk away from you.”

“No, it's not that.” Alfred sobbed, floodgates thrown open for the tears at this point. He sniffed up his boogers in a very uncouth fashion. “It's _you_, Dad.”

Arthur froze. Slowly he took his hand back from Al's shoulder. “W... what?”

“You push good things away.” Alfred was blunt and direct, and with good reason. His entire life he'd seen alphas come and go out of his dad's dating life. Some he even liked a lot. He was all too familiar with the cycle of getting to know a father figure and then having to let them go. In his gut he was _terrified_ of having to learn how to let his Papa go. “Please, _please_ don't push Papa away. Please, Dad.”

Words failed Arthur. Words, thoughts, actions, all ceased in a brief moment. His son's confession hit him like a bullet and he felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't find the words. Neither could Alfred, having said all that he needed to say. The teen just sobbed quietly, wrists repeatedly rubbing across his face to get rid of the tears.

It hurt to admit, but his son was right. Arthur _did_ push people away. Every time he had a valid reason and excuse, but without fail he gradually distanced every romantic relationship he started. Save for his brother and his few friendships, no one tended to stay very long. And he had been doing the exact same thing with Francis since he'd stepped back into his life. Keeping him at arm's length and trying to walk the delicate tightrope between too close and too far. It was getting tiring trying to keep this up as he realized that Francis was here to stay.

And, more and more, he was starting to realize that _he_ wanted the alpha to stay, too.

“I won't.” Arthur spoke, and to his surprise his own words choked up, too. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and looked over at his son. “I promise you, Alfred. I won't.”

Al nodded, but he could tell that his son didn't believe him. The two of them sat in pensive silence for a few more moments, just watching the flowers and letting the rest of the pain and hurt go unsaid. Arthur didn't need to be reminded of what a horrible thing he'd done. But he was going to do better, and he was going to be better.

Even if it killed him, he was going to be better.

When the teen's sobs had quieted and he'd replaced his glasses on his face, Arthur's fingers moved to the strings once more. Seeking to lighten the mood, he strummed a little tune he knew would get his son's attention. And it did. With a quizzical look, Alfred jerked his head to look at his dad.

“Dad, are you _really _playing the intro to In Luv Wit A Stripper?”

His father simply smiled, playing the tune once more. It was a short but iconic little riff, and it was returning the familiar smile to Alfred's face. “I am. When you asked me about it a few years back I picked it up.”

“What! Why didn't you ever show me?” Alfred was downright offended. He'd begged his dad to teach him how to play it back when he was in middle school, and received only stubborn refusal.

“Because you were thirteen. And I didn't want you listening to music about strippers, let alone playing it.” Arthur chuckled as his son crossed his arms. He quit playing and slipped the strap off over his shoulders, holding the guitar out towards Alfred. “... But, I'd be more than happy to teach you now, if you'd like.”

Alfred's eyes lit up and he wasted no time placing his dad's guitar in his lap and slipping the strap over his head. He'd always had a natural knack for music, and his fingers moved on the frets instinctively. Arthur scooted a little closer to him, showing him the chords and pointing to the frets and strings to make the tune just right.

From inside the house, Francis watched the two of them. Nothing could be heard through the thick glass of the window, but he didn't have to hear a word to know that they were having a much needed heart to heart conversation. He'd heard lengths from Alfred about the struggles he had with his dad, and it was long overdue for the two of them to work it out. And from the looks of it, they were doing just fine.

With the dishes from dinner washed up and dried, Francis turned away to go find his phone. Instead, he found Matthew, standing at the foot of the staircase with an armful of books. The quiet teen stepped forward, glancing down at the books he was holding.

“Papa? I found me and Al's old yearbooks, want to look through them with me?”

He looked back out the window at the two omegas sitting on the edge of the porch. Alfred's laughter was sounding through the wall now as a twangy guitar tune filled the outside air. Much quieter, he could hear Arthur's reserved laughter beside him. Turning back to Matthew he offered a warm smile. “I'd love to.”

Matthew beamed and hurried forward to drop the heavy books onto the table. Francis chuckled and pulled his chair out as his son started to explain the yearbooks and how old they were in each grade. The sounds of his family's laughter drifted in from outside, and it was now that Francis understood. This was where he'd always wanted to be. Where he'd always belonged.

With his family.

* * *

When the boys finally tired and retreated to bed, Francis picked up his jacket to head home himself. As he began to wish Arthur a good night, the omega jumped up with an offer to walk him to his car. Odd, Francis thought, considering how distant he typically was, but he wasn't going to argue against it. They were on fantastic terms tonight, save for that awkward end to the Thanksturkey Day dinner.

In fact, even after he and Alfred had come back inside later that night, Arthur still refused to bring the topic up. He just carried on like it hadn't happened. And as they walked deliberately slow towards his car, Francis debated whether or not he should take this opportunity to mention anything. Lord knows it was on both of their minds.

They paused in front of the vehicle and turned to look at each other, almost on cue. Francis' eyes drifted down to his feet before looking back up at Arthur. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could come out he was silenced. Arthur had lunged forward, throwing his arms around him in a hug.

At first, it was like that hug had singlehandedly forced all of the words out of his body. He froze in place, not sure how to react or what to say. And then Arthur's arms tightened around him oh so slightly, and his forehead rested on his shoulder, and he knew he didn't have to say anything.

God, how _different_ their lives could have been if they'd just spoken to each other, just once.

Their confession over dinner had struck a painful chord, no doubt opening old wounds for the both of them. Arthur's failure to deny his feeling at the dinner table spoke volumes, and it pained Francis to know that he'd felt the same way all these years. Wondering how the other had gotten on. Wondering if things were okay. Wondering if they'd ever get the chance to speak to each other again.

It hurt at the very core of his soul. Another thing he probably shared with Arthur, who was currently holding onto his body like a lifeline.

Gently he wrapped his arms around the other, and let his head rest on Arthur's. They didn't have to say anything. Arthur was letting him in, ever so gradually, and this was his way of asking Francis not to go. To stay, _please_ just stay. He was difficult and he knew it, he tested the alpha's patience from day one and would certainly continue to do so. He'd asked his forgiveness and would surely ask for more. But here he was, silently begging him to stay.

And when Francis's arms tightened around his shoulders, it was his way of saying he'd always come back here. No matter what.

He'd found his family. And nothing was going to keep him away from his family. Nothing would ever come close to how at home he felt here, with the three of them. Reading over French homework with Matthew. Taking Instagram selfies with Alfred. Standing out in the front yard arm in arm with Arthur.

No, this was home. This was where he belonged. By some chance of fate he'd found them, and he was never going to let this go.

Unfortunately, he did have to physically let Arthur go as the omega finally backed away. The emotional moment had made his eyes go misty, and he rubbed them with the sleeve of his sweater. Francis' cheeks went red. Even clouded with tears nothing would ever beat the sight of those green eyes lit by porchlight.

Arthur stammered, coming to his senses. “I-I'm sorry--”

“No, no.” Francis put his hands on his shoulders, reassuring. “It's okay.”

“Thank you.”

They looked into each other's eyes and, much to their relief, no other words need be said. Arthur smiled a real, genuine smile and sniffled up his budding tears. Francis just rubbed his shoulders, the same kind expression on his face that told the omega he had nothing to worry about.

With one more quick, joyous hug, they parted ways. And as Arthur walked back up to the house, he thought that maybe his son was right. This was indeed the best Thanksturkey Day they'd had in a long, long time.


End file.
